A Very Good Team
by Qweb
Summary: Conversations between the Avengers plus a little action. Random timeline, strictly movie-verse. No slash. Ch33-"In the Cards"-Coulson lives! Ch34-"Coulson's Comfort Food" Ch35-"A Chicken in Every Pot" - Steve's comfort food. Ch36-"Revenge is Sweet" - Coulson's revenge Ch37-"Teamwork"-Cap and Phil.
1. A Very Good Team

_Author's Note: This takes place after shawarma but before the scene where Thor takes Loki off to judgment._

**A Very Good Team**

Courteously ignoring the fact that he could walk through a gaping hole in the wall, Steve Rogers approached the private entrance of the half-ruined Stark Tower. After refueling on shawarma, Captain America, Black Widow, Clint Barton and Thor had gone back to the helicarrier for debriefing and to put Loki safely under lock and key. (Under Thor's immovable hammer, actually.) Tony Stark and Bruce Banner had declined SHIELD's invitation, to no one's surprise.

After the debriefing, Steve had taken the opportunity to shower, get patched up, take a nap and change into civilian clothes before he returned to Stark Tower on a mission — a personal mission.

Steve raised his hand to knock, but the door slid open before he could touch it.

A mellow, faintly British voice with slight metallic overtones welcomed him by name and invited him in.

"Ah." Steve looked around but saw no one. It was a little unnerving, but Steve straightened his shoulders and strode inside. After riding a flying, invisible aircraft carrier and fighting monsters from outer space, he wasn't going to let a disembodied voice throw him.

"Is Mr. Stark in, please?"

"He is, sir, and I've taken the liberty of informing him about your arrival. If you'd care to wait in the lounge, he'll be with you shortly."

"Thank you. And who am I speaking to, exactly," Steve said cautiously.

"I am Jarvis, sir, an artificial intelligence. Perhaps it would help to think of me as a computerized butler." Jarvis opened the elevator door in invitation.

"I'll try," said the man from World War II, as he stepped inside. "Though I'm not used to butlers, computerized or otherwise."

Really, he did adapt quickly, Jarvis noted in the file Tony Stark had opened on Captain America. Was that a result of the super soldier serum or an innate personality trait?

The lounge still held a Loki-shaped dent in the floor in front of the bar. Steve realized the building was strangely quiet. Clean up had been going hot and heavy down in the street, but in Stark Tower, at the epicenter of the battle, there was no sound of construction at all, though most of the debris had been cleaned away.

"Where is everybody?" Steve asked the empty air. He was growing more used to Jarvis by the minute. "I expected construction crews."

"Mr. Stark said he couldn't concentrate with all the noise. He sent the workmen to clean up the businesses on the ground floor that were damaged during the battle."

Steve smiled. Trust Tony to disguise an act of kindness with a veil of selfishness. Steve was beginning to understand his talkative, aggravating comrade.

"What about Dr. Banner?" Steve asked.

"Miss Potts took him shopping for clothes."

"Miss Potts? Is she Stark's secretary?" Steve guessed.

"She was," the computer confirmed. "Now she is president of Stark Industries."

President? Remember, Rogers, we're in 2012, Steve reminded himself firmly. Peggy had the moxie to be a president. This Pepper must be the same sort of dame ... woman, he corrected himself.

Jarvis invited Steve to have a drink while he waited.

"There's a selection of beers in the cooler on the left."

Steve checked the refrigerator. Amid foreign ales and strangely named microbrews, he found an old friend. And in a bottle, too. At least some things haven't changed, he thought.

* * *

"What did he pick?" Tony asked Jarvis, as the billionaire washed his hands carefully before leaving his lab.

"Budweiser, sir."

"Disappointing. No sense of adventure." Tony disapproved, then had a second thought. "Then again, Cap's had a month of everything strange and everything new. He's probably bloated with strangeness." Tony smacked his forehead. "And I insisted on shawarma! No wonder he hardly ate anything! Get me Happy."

Tony's long-suffering chauffeur and odd job man answered his phone.

"Pepper hit the credit card limit, yet?" Tony asked.

"Just about. She promised this is the last stop. It better be! The trunk is full and the passenger seat is stacked with boxes."

"I told you to take the stretch limo," Tony reminded him. "Listen, I want you to pick up something for me on the way home. Bring back some hot dogs, Nathan's, with all the fixings. Make it a dozen." He considered the unusual metabolisms of Banner and Rogers. "Make it two dozen," he decided.

"Got it, boss," Happy confirmed.

* * *

Stark went to meet his guest. "So, how'd the meeting with Cyclops go?" Tony asked, as he breezed in the door and began mixing a dirty vodka martini.

Steve automatically stood at the entrance of the older man. (Younger man? This time bending could be so confusing.)

"Tony."

Tony tried to remember if this was the first time Cap had called him Tony instead of Stark or Mr. Stark. "Steve?" Of course, maybe that was the first time he'd called Rogers by his first name, too.

"I came to apologize for what I said back on the helicarrier. I was wrong to say you didn't understand self-sacrifice."

"You came just for that?" Cap was such a Boy Scout! "Yes, you were wrong," Tony said cockily. "But you were right, too," he admitted. "You just based your hypothesis on insufficient data."

Steve chuckled. "Isn't that a scientific way to say I was wrong?"

Tony shrugged. "In science, you start with a hypothesis and test it. If it doesn't prove out, you develop another hypothesis. No tears. No regrets. Look, Cap, you said you'd seen my files. Well, you were right. The other two times I brought Iron Man out to play with the big boys, I did it for selfish reasons, to save my life, my company. Your hypothesis was valid. But now you have more data."

"And you passed the test, thank God," Steve said.

"We all passed," Tony corrected. He cleared his throat. "And, uh, I have to apologize to you for saying that what made you special came out of a bottle."

Steve looked surprised. He hadn't taken that as an insult because the boy from Brooklyn often felt that way himself. "But you were right. I was nothing before Dr. Erskine's Super Soldier Serum."

"No, no, no. I was wrong. And don't make me repeat that, because I don't like to admit it often. I looked back at Dr. Erskine's notes and I found something I'd dismissed as a doodle. It read: 'Brain + Heart' with a line under them and the word 'Body' beneath the line. Now that I've seen you in action, I understand," Tony said earnestly. "Brain and heart, that's what Erskine thought was most important. It was a rebus: Brain and heart above body."

Tony leaned over and tapped Steve on the chest. Steve closed his eyes and looked away, pain on his face.

Tony looked at his finger in surprise. "What?" he asked.

"Dr. Erskine did that just before he died. Touched me on my chest to remind me of what he thought was important."

"He was right," Tony said firmly. "You're a natural leader. Who else can lead the Avengers? Not our shadow-hugging spy duo and not our anger-management poster boy."

Steve had to concentrate to follow Stark's allusions. "What about you?"

"Oh, certainly not me." Tony waved away the idea. "I'm a back room, science geek kind of guy. I don't even lead Stark Industries, Pepper does. I can't follow orders, let alone give them!"

"What about Thor?" Steve asked, almost teasing.

Tony paused for thought. "Shakespeare in the Park? Maybe," he admitted. "He's led armies of gods into battle, but they were gods. I'm not sure he has a proper understanding of the fragility of humans — and their stuff," he added, thinking of the faceplate ripped right off the Iron Man suit. "And anyway, he doesn't know the territory."

"Neither do I," Steve said glumly, but Tony waved away the whole man-out-of-time shtick.

"I'm not talking about knowing Facebook or CNN. Your staff — me — can handle that for you. I'm talking about understanding the way people think and react. No, you're the man. Steve, look what you did! You coordinated a mismatched group of outrageous heroes defending against an invasion of metallic insects from outer space! No one's trained for that! And you did it instantly, putting each of us where we could do the most good."

"You're the one who saved the city," Steve pointed out.

"You're the one who saved the people," Tony countered.

They stared at each other as if in challenge, neither wanting to be the first to blink. Then Cap laughed, letting Tony win the stare down (and proving the billionaire's point about leadership). "So we make a good team?" He tilted his beer bottle toward Tony.

Tony clinked his martini glass against the bottle. "A very good team," he agreed.

He heard the elevator door open, bringing laughing voices and the rustle of shopping bags. "Care to stay for dinner, Steve," Tony asked his friend. "We're having hot dogs. Nathan's Famous."

His thoughtfulness was rewarded by a bright, boyish, greedy smile that reminded Tony that Steve Rogers, subjectively, was just 23.

"Thank you, Mr. … Tony. I'd love to stay. It's been 70 years since I had a good hotdog."

"Want another Bud?" Tony asked, gesturing at the almost empty bottle Steve held.

Steve started to agree, then hesitated. "Maybe I'll try something new," he said bravely. "Got any Belgian beer in that cooler?" he asked. "Even during the war, they made a mean brew."

"Belgian it is," Smiling in approval, Tony pulled out two bottles of his favorite, to keep his guest company. Then the two teammates went to stuff themselves silly on all-American hot dogs.

* * *

_Author's Note: Totally based on the movie and not on comics history that I can't remember anyway. Budweiser made in the U.S. since 1876. Nathan's Famous Frankfurters started in Coney Island in 1916. Both still available, heck, still common today to make an out-of-place super soldier feel more at home._


	2. Living Legends

_A/N: I intended "A Very Good Team" to be a one-shot, but the Avengers keep talking In My Head! They're not doing anything in particular; they're just conversing, getting to know each other. To get them out of my head, I have to write them out, and once I write the stories, I might as well post them. So here we go with chapter 2._

_No excuse for this, except Steve Rogers is from Brooklyn and so are the Dodgers. My beloved Dodgers._

**Living Legends**

Tony Stark, aka Iron Man, wandered out of his lab and found a Super Soldier in his TV room.

"Cap? What are you doing?" he demanded.

Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, sat up straight and regarded his volatile Avengers teammate warily. "I'm watching the baseball game. I asked you yesterday," Steve reminded Tony. "It's the Dodgers vs. the Giants. That used to mean something in my day."

"Still does," Tony reassured him. He spent enough time in Malibu to be conversant with L.A. traditions. "But why are you watching this channel?"

"Because that's the channel the game's on," Steve answered carefully. "That's why I'm here. Because I don't have cable or satellite."

Sometimes Steve was so cute, Tony thought with a grin that his friend couldn't interpret. Cap thought TV signals came through the air like old-time radio. And, OK, his did, but with all the interference around his place, Steve could only get four digital channels clearly and didn't understand why they were 4.0, 4.1, 4.2 and 28. Still, Steve accepted that's how TV worked, because it had been a novelty before World War II. Poor boy Steve had seen television exactly once, when he crowded into a saloon to watch the broadcast of a Brooklyn Dodgers game in July of 1941.

Shaking his head at the adorableness of Steve innocence, Tony began typing on his Starkpad. The TV picture went blue with codes flickering across the top.

"Hey, I was watching that," Steve protested. He was honestly bewildered. It was Tony's home and Tony's television set. He could evict Cap if he wanted to. He didn't have to share. But when he invited Steve and then changed the channel just as the game was about to start, that was mean, and Tony wasn't mean. Hyperactive, nosy, aggravating, infuriating and a host of other negative adjectives, but not mean.

Tony held up one finger in a "wait for it" gesture, then the picture came back. It showed a couple trying to conceal an SUV behind potted plants and a water cooler.

"It's the same game," Tony said hastily. "They're just on a commercial." When Steve looked doubtful, Tony added, "I promise. I wouldn't steal your Crackerjacks. I didn't realize you liked baseball so much."

"It hasn't changed," Steve said simply.

Tony saw so much pathos in the comment that he couldn't speak for a moment. So much had changed for the World War II icon frozen in the arctic for 70 years.

Though Steve hadn't said it in a self-pitying way, Tony couldn't stand the sadness. "You mean the black players and the Rodriguezes and the Gonzalezes and the Ichiro Suzukis? Seems to me the face of baseball has changed since the 1940s."

That was Tony, Steve thought. He always had to poke a guy to see if he could get the monster to come out. However, Steve was more respectful of other people's feelings, so he answered cautiously, "You must have heard about the Howling Commandos …" Because Tony's father had known them, but Tony could get touchy at even an oblique reference to his father.

Tony frowned, but remembering his father's stories made him smile again. Tales of Captain America and the Howling Commandos were some of his favorite father-son memories, before Howard got so busy and so distant, before he started to expect so much from his genius son.

"Multi-racial, multi-ethnic, multi-national — multi-everything. I remember."

"You can't think I would care what color the ball players are or what country they come from, as long as they love the game."

"Did you know your Brooklyn Dodgers broke the color barrier in Major League baseball. They hired Jackie Robinson, the first African-American player," Tony said, making Steve smile proudly. It was his Brooklyn boys that made that honorable decision. "His number, 42, was retired by all baseball teams a couple of years ago, in honor of this milestone," Tony finished, making Steve even prouder.

Tony saw the Dodger logo come up and knew the game was about to start. "Here's what I wanted you to see. Another living legend, Vin Scully."

Steve watched with interest as the mellow-voiced announcer greeted the viewers and set the stage for the evening's game. He told some stories about the players and made Steve feel that he was watching with a family friend.

Tony played with his Starkpad while the familiar voice washed over them.

When a break came, Steve said, "You were right. I like his style."

He would, Tony thought. It was more old school than the sometimes raucous younger announcers. "He's been broadcasting for the Dodgers since 1950, when they were still in Brooklyn," Tony said. (Yeah, he'd just looked it up.) "He's so well respected, that he's been in the Baseball Hall of Fame for 30 years!"

Steve went back to watching and Tony moved to the side of the room where he could talk on the phone.

The Dodgers went on a home run tear.

"Ethier went deep to right. Rivera went deep to right. Ramirez went deep to right. And the pitcher was in deep trouble," Scully summed up the action, making Steve chuckle. *

The Giants manager made a trip to the mound and the game went to commercial.

"So, you available to watch tomorrow's game?" Tony asked casually.

"Sure. I don't have any plans, unless the Avengers are needed," Steve amended. But, really, that went without saying.

"Great, then as soon as the game's done, we'll take my jet out to Malibu and go to Dodger Stadium for Sunday afternoon's game."

Before Steve stopped gaping, Tony was on the phone with Nick Fury explaining that two of the Avengers were jetting off to California.

"Really, Nicky," Tony overrode Fury's voluble protests. "It's just as likely that mutant ninja turtles will attack the West Coast as the East."

Steve's Super Soldier ears picked up Fury saying something about expecting such flighty behavior from you, Stark, but not from Rogers.

Tony made a face and put his hand over the microphone while Fury ranted. "Mother always liked you best," he muttered to Steve, who mouthed a bewildered "What?" "Jarvis, make a note, update Cap on the Smothers Brothers and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, though I think Dick and Tom would be more to his taste."

"Noted, sir," came the voice of Stark's AI.

Tony broke in on Fury's admonitions. "Right, right. I promise to not break your favorite Super Soldier. C'mon, let Cap have some fun. It's the Dodgers vs. the Giants!"

Tony listened a moment longer, grunted an affirmative and hung up. He stared at the blank phone for a moment. "Huh, even Fury understands Dodgers vs. Giants. Who knew?"

Steve finally got his voice back. "But, I couldn't …" He was ashamed that Tony thought he needed charity.

Really, Tony just liked to manage other people. "Steve," he said impatiently. "I've already decided I'm going. The jet's going with or without you. The Malibu house has one or two (dozen) guest rooms. And the company owns a box at the stadium so the tickets are already mine."

Steve frowned suspiciously. "Wasn't anybody planning to use the tickets? It is the Dodgers vs. the Giants."

"Well, yes, Randy in R&D out there planned to take his fiancé, but I traded a couple of other tickets so he's happy."

"Other tickets?"

"Well … airline tickets to Hawaii and a week's stay, all expenses paid, at my beach house in Waikiki."

"OK, that might just beat a Dodger game," Steve admitted. He looked a little stunned at the Stark whirlwind sweeping him away.

"Well, if you like that, we can go to Oahu on our next field trip," Tony said, a gleam in his eye proving he was already planning his next escape from Fury.

"I would like to see the Pearl Harbor Memorial," Steve admitted. And then Tony spotted that rare twinkle in the serious soldier's eye. "And surely mutant turtles are more likely to attack the islands than the mainland."

"Exactly!"

Steve went back to watching the game. Tony, as usual, watched with half his attention while tapping his Starkpad. He was sure his L.A. staff could arrange for him to meet with Vin Scully before Sunday's game. A big donation to the Think Cure charity would probably suffice. Tony would enjoy introducing Steve Rogers to Vin Scully. Steve might not appreciate Vin's years of Hall of Fame service and Vin certainly wouldn't know he was meeting Captain America, but Tony would get a kick out of introducing two living legends.

_* That's a real Scully comment (except he named the pitcher) but it was from a game against the Marlins. The Giants, alas, skunked the Dodgers the last time the two teams met (about the time I was writing this story). The Dodgers history is true. One of the first sports games broadcast was a Dodgers game. And Vin Scully is a legend._


	3. Remembering

_A/N: This takes place between the "I'll have that drink now" scene and the shawarma scene._

**Remembering**

"Friend archer, are you here?"

"Over here."

Thor picked his way through the rubble toward the edge of Stark Tower. The Asgardian was not afraid of the long drop beside him, but he was wary of the damaged roof breaking beneath his weight.

He found Hawkeye sitting near the edge, looking down on the city where shocked people were beginning to come out, survey the damage and talk to the gathering news people. Clint Barton sat in the shelter of the huge A, all that was left of the word STARK. He could see the people below, but the shadow of the A concealed the SHIELD agent from even the longest telephoto lens.

When he was close enough to talk without bellowing, Thor said, "The Lady Natasha sent me to tell you that Fury of SHIELD is sending a vehicle for us and Loki. It should be here soon."

Clint snorted. "I doubt it can get here sooner than an hour, considering all the debris in the streets."

"Perhaps they will send a sky vehicle," Thor suggested.

"Would you want to land a chopper here?" Clint nodded at the damaged roof. "Or there?" He tipped his head toward the rubble-filled street.

Thor chuckled companionably. "I would not. I hardly wish to set foot here, for fear it will collapse on our friends below."

The two Avengers sat in silence for a long moment, watching the people in the street.

"Why'd Tasha send you?" Clint asked curiously. "I mean, we haven't even been introduced."

Thor laughed with good humor. He thumped a fist on his chest. "Battle comrade, may I present myself. I am Thor, son of Odin." He bowed formally.

Grinning faintly, Clint flowed to his feet and bowed, wincing at the strain on his bruised and lacerated back. "Pleased to meet you, Thor. I am Clint Barton, agent of SHIELD."

"Greetings, Clint Barton." Thor's big hand engulfed the one the archer held out to him. Clint was prepared for a powerful squeeze, but Thor's grip was considerate of an archer's dexterous fingers. "And to answer the question you posed, Dr. Banner is helping friend Stark out of his armor. It is badly dented and not willing to give way. I offered to pry it apart, but he declined." Clint fought to hide another grin. Thor had already wrenched the faceplate clear off. Stark was probably afraid Thor's help would wreck the Iron Man suit entirely.

"And Natasha?" Clint asked.

"She is binding the wounds of our battle commander."

"Cap's hurt? I didn't know that."

"He hides it well, but I saw him hit by an energy blast. When I asked about his wounds, Lady Natasha and Dr. Banner insisted on checking him." Thor rested a hand on his abdomen. "His flesh looked like meat charred over a campfire." Clint winced. "But it was already healing around the edges," Thor continued. "The Lady Natasha was cleaning it and binding it. Are you badly injured?" The Asgardian had not missed the wince in Clint's bow.

The agent shrugged — without a wince. "I crashed through a window and landed on my back." He tapped the quiver still on his back as an illustration. "I'm a little bruised and cut up. Natasha took care of it before she let me go."

"And why are you here? Standing watch?"

Clint hesitated. "I just … needed some time," he said heavily. "Natasha just told me about Coulson."

"Ah," Thor said heavily. He sat on a broken piece of wall while Hawkeye took his perch again. They sat in silence for several long moments, thinking about their friend.

"It was my fault," the two Avengers said simultaneously. They exchanged surprised looks.

"I betrayed SHIELD to Loki," Clint insisted, as if it was important for him to receive the blame. "I led the assault that freed Loki and Phil was killed trying to recapture him."

"No, my friend. Twice no," Thor said strongly. "You are not to blame for falling victim to my brother's magic. No mortal could withstand it. Many Asgardians have fallen to it. I, who should know it best of all, have fallen many times, including this day." He sighed sadly. "Loki and I have been brothers for a thousand of your years and yet he tricked me again with his doppelgangers. The son of Coul was not killed trying to recapture Loki but trying to rescue me from my own folly. Because I fell for Loki's tricks again, the son of Coul paid with his life."

Clint heard heavy guilt in Thor's voice. How hard was it for a nearly immortal Asgardian to see a friend killed before his eyes?

"Agent Coulson died doing his duty." Natasha's voice startled the brooding twosome. "His death rallied the Avengers — his pet project — which saved the world. I'm sure his only regret was not getting to see Captain America in action." She spoke briskly, like a schoolteacher presenting a lesson, but Clint could hear the clot of grief in her voice. "Loki's the one who killed him No one else is to blame. Now come on, Stark says he was promised shawarma and he's going to drive me crazy until he gets it. Anyway, I'm hungry."

The two men followed her obediently, but it would take time before they would shed their shared guilt over the death of a friend.

_A/N: Personally I'm hoping Coulson is still alive, but the Avengers wouldn't know that yet._


	4. Teammates and Shawarma

_A/N: This takes place immediately after the last chapter._

**Teammates and Shawarma**

Life mocks death. On the ruined streets of New York City, pigeons were already gathering to gobble down the food spilled by fleeing cafe patrons. Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff and Thor Odinsson mourn the loss of a friend, but they have other friends who need assistance.

When they returned from the roof, they found Steve Rogers alone in a workroom with medical supplies and pieces of Iron Man's armor scattered around. His Captain America cowl was pulled back and his head was bent as if he was modeling for a statue of patient endurance.

"Cap? You all right?" Clint asked anxiously. He was a little surprised at his quick concern for this man who he'd really only exchanged battle related words with. But, without hesitation, Cap had accepted him onto his team, made him an Avenger, based solely on a single nod from Natasha. Clint could never thank Steve Rogers enough for giving him a chance to strike back, a chance to erase some of the red Loki had put in his ledger. Hawkeye put a gentle hand on the young soldier's shoulder.

Steve looked up, lines of pain mixing with lines of humor around his eyes. "Ever notice how it hurts worse after it's been treated?"

"Oh yeah, been there, done that, bought the souvenir T-shirt," Clint said.

"That's pretty good," Steve chuckled.

"Oh, I'm going to like you, if you think cliche phrases are my personal witticisms," Clint joked.

Hands on her hips, Natasha was looking around in exasperation. "Where'd everyone go?"

"Loki's still where Thor left him, lying in his dent with the hammer on his chest and a gag in his mouth to keep him quiet." Steve wasn't a malicious man, but with all the trouble Loki had caused out of pure petulance, he was meanly glad at the god's ignoble comeuppance. "Banner finally got Stark out of the suit and they went looking for some clothes for Banner. Those pants were stretched all out of shape."

"But at least they didn't rip to shreds like his shirt," Natasha said. She eyed Steve blond head, bent again in weariness and pain. "Are you sure you want to go out for food? You can stay here if you want. You don't have to come."

"Yes, he does." Tony's voice came from behind Thor, as he and a newly clothed Banner reentered the room. "This is a mandatory field trip."

He came past Thor, saw Steve and stopped. Compassion flashed in his eyes. He covered it quickly, but not before everyone saw it. Tony continued off-handedly, "I forgot the senior citizen might not have the stamina of the rest of us younger, fitter sorts. If you want to stay here, gramps, the rooms on the east side seem to have survived intact."

"No, thank you. I need to eat," Steve answered. "I found out the hard way during the war. I heal fast, but the price is I've got to eat and sleep. I was a Depression kid. I was used to going without, but after the serum, I couldn't. It was embarrassing during the war. We were on short rations, but my men each gave up a piece of their own to keep me going." After all these years, he still sounded deeply ashamed. Of course, to him, it was mere months, not 70 years.

"I'll bet they said it was a fair trade for all you did to keep them safe," Bruce said kindly.

Steve quirked a small grin. "Yeah. Yeah, they did." There was a pause while he pulled his mind out of the past, then he said, "Besides, Stark wants shawarma, whatever that is, and he saved all of us. He earned his reward today."

Tony grimaced at the phrasing, as if he was a fourth-grader who had won the spelling bee. "I wasn't sure you even knew what a nuke was, old-timer. A little after your time."

"Well, about the first thing I wanted to know was how the war ended," Steve said. "So I got a book. You know, words, printed on paper, bound together," he joked, miming flipping pages with his hands.

"Books, that's so 20th century," Tony sighed dramatically.

"Guilty," Steve agreed.

Bruce could hardly believe it, but the two men shared a smile, before Steve resumed more seriously, "Anyway, I read about Hiroshima and Nagasaki, so I knew the danger we were in."

And suddenly everyone was looking like they wanted to thank Tony and he couldn't have that. "OK. Shawarma, then? I called ahead. They're expecting us."

"You mean there's a cell tower still standing?" Natasha asked.

Tony shrugged. "A few, probably, but I had Jarvis bounce the signal off a satellite. They're not so easy to knock down."

Seeing Steve about to stand, Bruce went to help him up. He meant to grab Steve under the arm, but the Super Soldier was heavier than he looked. Bruce's hand slipped and caught Steve's waist, right where the bandages were.

"Ow!" Steve punched Bruce in the side. It wasn't a hard punch, just a friendly pal payback punch, but Bruce's eyes got wide and his weren't the only ones.

"You hit me!" Bruce said in surprise.

"That hurt!" Cap replied. Seeing everyone staring, he asked, "What?"

"You hit Bruce Banner," Natasha said, shying away a bit. She hadn't quite gotten over being chased by a big green monster.

"Oh." Steve studied Bruce critically. "Doesn't look like he's changing." And he threw his arm over Bruce's shoulder.

"You said I was crazy for poking him," Tony reminded Steve.

Cap looked a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry about that, Dr. Banner. They showed me movies of the Hulk in action and they were pretty scary, but I should have remembered that propaganda doesn't have to tell the truth. The Third Reich had as many starving children and feeble grandmothers as it had goose-stepping soldiers."

"I'm not following you," Bruce confessed.

"I've seen the Hulk now," Steve said simply. "He fought on my team. He saved a teammate's life. He even followed my orders."

"'Hulk, smash,' is orders?" Tony muttered, but everyone ignored him.

"Now I know that the Hulk isn't a monster," Steve explained. "So he's not so scary. But I shouldn't have hit you. I didn't hurt you, did I? Sometimes I forget my own strength."

"No, I'm fine. I was just surprised and people don't usually like to surprise me."

"We'd better go before Fury gets here," Clint said. "Or we'll be lucky to get a granola bar and a bottle of water until after the debriefing."

The hungry group made its way to the elevator. Steve continued to lean on Bruce, not because he needed to, but because he thought Bruce needed him to.

Natasha surveyed the limping wounded as they entered the elevator.

"Good thing the power's still on," she commented. "Or Thor would have had to ferry us all to the ground."

Tony looked offended. "What part of self-sustaining, independent power source did you not comprehend?"

Natasha made a face at Tony for missing the point. She'd really been commenting on the wounded warriors, not the operating elevator.

Tony ushered everyone to an SUV with off-road capability and took the wheel himself. "Need help with your patient, Dr. Banner?" Natasha asked with a smirk, emphasizing the "doctor."

"Thank you, Nurse Romanoff," Bruce answered gravely.

Steve stumbled and would have really fallen if Bruce hadn't been holding him. The Super Soldier swung around to face Natasha.

"The nurse! You were the nurse! When I woke up!"

A merry, mischievous smile lit up the Black Widow's eyes, an expression that only Clint had seen before.

"I wondered if you would ever remember. You were a little preoccupied," she said, as she nudged him toward the van. Everyone climbed in. After threatening to slit Tony's throat if he drove through the littered streets as if they were a racetrack, Natasha began her story.

"The doctors said Captain Rogers was waking up and the EEG readings looked normal, but they couldn't be sure. No one knew how his long sleep would affect him. SHIELD set up a simple room out of the 1940s — no scary modern medical equipment — with an old-fashioned radio playing a broadcast of a Dodgers game, to make Cap feel at home. But some sloppy idiot didn't check the date on the ballgame." The dripping scorn in her voice told the men that she'd paid a visit to educate said sloppy idiot. "When Steve woke up, he recognized the game."

Clint winced, even though he'd heard this story before. "Knowing the game was fake, he had to believe the whole setup was a lie."

"Which it was," Tony pointed out.

The man under discussion nodded. "All I could think was that I had been captured by Hydra and they were trying to trick me. So I ran out of the building and into the streets and into a place I never expected. It was New York City, but so much louder and brighter than I remembered from 1940. But I recognized the buildings and the New York accents of the cab drivers cussing at me…" Steve's voice trailed off.

"It must have been a shock," Bruce said sympathetically.

"I can't even describe it," Steve said. He eyed Natasha. "But why were you there, Agent Romanoff?" he asked, emphasizing her title. "You're no nurse."

"I had a checklist," she answered with a smile. "I was supposed to evaluate your mental state and your physical recovery and, if you woke up violent, I was expected to subdue you. But instead you ran, like a startled racehorse."

"I'm sorry I messed up your assignment."

"No, I saw everything I needed. Memory intact, check. Reasoning intact, check. Reflexes and motor skills, double check." She chuckled. "After Director Fury talked you down and debriefed you, I turned in my checklist. He scowled at me and tossed the whole clipboard in the trash."

They all laughed.

"It's still overwhelming sometimes," Steve admitted gazing at his memories. "I wake up not knowing when I am."

As gratifying as it was to think Steve trusted the Avengers enough to show his weaknesses, Clint didn't want to plunge back into depressing feelings.

"That was an interesting first meeting," he agreed. "Did you know I almost killed Thor before we were introduced?"

"This I did not know," Thor answered in surprise. "When was this?"

"In New Mexico, when you attacked the SHIELD installation to get your hammer back." Thor nodded. "While you were tossing agents around like juggling balls, I was up on a crane with my bow ready to take you out."

"And why did you not?" Thor asked.

Clint realized he was touching on depression again. "Coulson wanted to see what you would do. That's why he let you go later, when Selvig told his preposterous story. He wanted to see what would happen."

"Much happened."

Clint laughed. "A little more than Phil expected. But he told Fury later you would be a valuable ally. Anyway, he classed you as a friendly in the SHIELD database."

Natasha wasn't ready to think about Coulson right now. She wanted privacy for her mourning. She saw that everyone got quiet — even Tony — at the mention of Phil. She decided on a diversion.

"That's not really so unusual for you, Hawkeye," she scoffed. "You almost killed me before we were introduced."

By leading the assault on the helicarrier, Barton had almost killed all of them before being introduced, Tony thought. But — proving that miracles do happen — the billionaire didn't comment on it. He only said, "We're here," as he pulled up in front of the Shawarma Palace.

Steve gobbled down two orders of shawarma with double grilled vegetables (because Captain America always eats his vegetables, boys and girls). He inhaled his meal so fast, even Thor was impressed, then Steve closed his eyes and rested his chin on his hand.

"Hey, you don't snore, do you?" Tony teased.

Steve blinked at him. "I don't know. I've never been awake to find out," he retorted.

Then feeling safe among his teammates — safe and comfortable for the first time since awakening in this strange time — Captain America drifted off to sleep.

The others continued to eat in silence, unwilling to disturb their young-old leader. The Avengers were a team, even when it came to shawarma.


	5. Slip of the Tongue

_I'm not sure I buy the idea of the Avengers all living together. "Kill each other in a week" is the phrase that comes to mind. But I can see the tower as a place for them to gather and bond, and the idea of movie night has been done by so many fanfic writers it's practically canon._

**Slip of the Tongue**

Periodically, the Avengers gathered in Tony Stark's spacious home theater for what the others called team bonding and Tony called repairing Capsicle's cultural illiteracy. Thor came sometimes, but usually he preferred Jane Foster as his teacher. And who could blame him?

Though Pepper was on the West Coast, everyone else had gathered at Avengers Tower. Clint lay on the couch with his head pillowed on Natasha's thigh. Bruce and Tony sat in armchairs at either end of the couch. Steve had pulled up a high backed chair next to Bruce. It was padded, but its straight conformation suited the Super Soldier's military posture. But as the movie had progressed, Steve leaned forward, involved in the action and the art of the fantasy epic.

They'd just finished the last of the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy, which they'd begun because Steve wanted to know why Tony called Clint "Legolas."

* * *

"_I mean, I know he must be an archer, right?" he'd said._

"_Right," Natasha had agreed. "But don't assume 'he.' Tony calls Clint Katniss, too, and she's a woman."_

"_But she totally kicks butt," Tony had pointed out._

"_Which is why I haven't used my glue stick arrow on your coffee maker," Clint had replied, making Tony shudder at the sacrilegious thought._

* * *

So they'd watched "Lord of the Rings" over three scattered nights and the artist in Steve was fascinated by the special effects.

"Was that stop-motion animation, with the elephant-thing?"

"Wait? You know about stop-motion?" Tony demanded.

Steve gave Tony a pitying look. "King Kong came out when I was a kid. I saw it four times."

"He's an artist, remember," Bruce reminded Tony. "And I can't answer your question, Steve. It might be stop-motion. Peter Jackson, the director, used every special effects trick, old and new, for this movie. But I think it was probably CGI."

"Computer Generated Imagery," Tony said before Steve could ask.

"The art was made by a computer?" Steve was a little disappointed.

"No, the art was made by people using computers," Natasha corrected, because she perceived the importance of the difference to the man out of time.

Because he had a love affair with tech, Tony began to describe CGI, starting simple but getting more technical as he grew more enthusiastic about the topic.

Steve followed the basics, but grew lost as Tony wandered into technicalities. Cap zoned out, taken back to a lab in the 1940s where Tony's father was trying to explain the workings of a Hydra weapon. Steve was lost then as he was lost now.

"All right, Howard, I've got it," Steve laughed.

Silence fell so heavily that even a cricket would have been scared to chirp.

Tony's animated face frosted over at being compared to his neglectful and often absent father. He clapped his hands on his knees, "Well, I think we're done here. See you next week," he told the room, avoiding Steve's eyes.

Everyone else was looking at Steve and he couldn't think why, until he replayed his words in his mind. Damn!

From a flat-footed standing start, he leaped over the coffee table, the couch and Hawkeye, who pursed his lips in a soundless whistle of admiration and sat up to see what was going to happen next.

Steve planted his muscular frame in the doorway and refused to let his friend leave.

"Tony, I'm sorry. It was a slip of the tongue. For a minute you sounded like your father."

Tony tried to push past, but it was like trying to shove aside the Statue of Liberty.

Steve tried to explain. "You're not the first Stark who had to explain technology to dim-witted Steve Rogers."

The bitterness in Steve's voice eased that in Tony's heart. He saw in Steve's eyes the same inadequacy that Howard Stark had engendered in his son. Tony felt a surge of guilt and self-disgust that he might be doing to Steve what his father had done to him. He'd always sworn he never wanted to be like his father.

"I'm just a dumb jamoke from Brooklyn," Steve continued.

He misinterpreted the sudden self-loathing in Tony's eyes, sighed and stepped aside.

"I can't help it if sometimes you remind me of your father," Steve said quietly.

"I can't help it if you remind me about my father," Tony answered. He lightly punched Steve in the chest. Everyone else in the room resumed breathing.

"Where am I going?" Tony asked the room theatrically. "We haven't settled on the next movie!"

The Avengers had learned that if they didn't plan in advance, they'd waste all their time wrangling about their selection.

Tony threw an arm around Steve's neck and dragged the Super Soldier back into the sitting area. "Come, young padawan, and we will teach you everything you need to know.

"What's a padawan?" Steve asked.

"Star Wars!" Clint, Tony and Bruce chorused.

"But which?" Natasha asked practically. "There are six," she told Steve.

"All of them, of course," Clint said scornfully, "but which order?"

"One, two, three, four, five, six?" Steve suggested logically.

"Maybe, but that's not the order they were made. They were filmed four through six, then years later, George Lucas made one through three," Bruce explained.

"Why?"

"Because he never expected them to be successful and he figured Number Four stood alone the best, if it was the only one he ever got to make," Bruce answered.

"The originals are still the best," Clint argued.

"But the effects are decades better in the first three," Tony countered.

"But if you don't start with Phantom Menace, it will be hours before Steve finds out what a padawan is," Natasha put in.

When the deadly Black Widow expressed a preference, she tended to get her way.

"Right," Tony agreed. "One, two, three, four, five, six. Two at a time?"

"Two Star Wars are hardly longer than 'Return of the King,'" Bruce pointed out.

"Then it's settled. And may the force be with you until then," Tony said.

"Force?" Steve asked plaintively. "What force?"


	6. Scars

_A little more action in this chapter._

**Scars**

"Cap's down!" Natasha Romanoff's tense voice carried a message that Tony Stark dreaded to hear. Their leader, Captain America, was injured.

Flying high above, Iron Man looked down to see Cap lying on the ground clutching his right thigh, while Black Widow used Cap's shield to block three android assailants wielding sabers the length of her arm. The androids were strong, but slow. The agile Natasha could have escaped them easily, but she wouldn't abandon the Avengers' leader.

Even as Tony dove toward the uneven contest, an arrow sprouted from one android's head, then a second. Natasha stabbed with the razor edge of the shield, almost severing the neck of the third.

She wasn't so focused that she didn't realize three more androids had risen up behind her, but she wouldn't leave Steve.

"Coming through," Tony warned.

"Tasha, down!" Hawkeye could see it all from his perch high above.

With faith in her partner, Natasha threw herself on top of Steve with the shield covering them both. Arms crossed in front of his helmet, Iron Man blasted by like a battering ram, sending the three androids flying.

"Bank left around the turn," Clint Barton called.

Iron Man had faith, too. He could see enemies dead ahead and on either side of the intersection, but he spun left, using his hand repulsors and sheer body mass to strike down four more androids.

One the right side of the intersection, Thor dropped like a thunderbolt. Literally, like a thunderbolt. He smashed one android beneath his feet while lightning flared from his mighty hammer Mjolnir, electrocuting the group around him.

The last group of androids was suddenly flying left and right, smashing into buildings as the Hulk made his presence known.

And then, for a moment, there was calm in the vicinity of the Avengers. All they could hear over the comm was Steve's harsh breathing.

"They're regrouping by Seventh," Clint reported.

"I need help here," Natasha said as she set the shield aside.

"Not bad for a rookie," Steve gasped, with a flick of a glance at the shield.

"Shut up," Natasha said, but there was a comradely note in her voice.

Tony jetted back, dropping down to one knee beside Steve and raising his visor. Thor and Hulk came to join the group, but when Hulk saw the red blood bubbling between Cap's fingers, he roared in a rage and ran off to find more androids to punish.

"Dammit, we could really have used Banner," Natasha said in annoyance. She added a field dressing and more pressure to Steve's grip, but nothing seemed to slow the blood from the six-inch gash.

"Stark, you're in charge," Steve gasped. Always thinking of the battle and not himself, Tony thought.

"Me, but …" Tony didn't want it. He dreaded being responsible for other lives.

"Dammit, Stark. You're the bossiest man I know. Take charge," Steve ordered. He groaned and flinched at a sharp pain.

His movement must have opened an artery nicked by the android's blade. Suddenly blood was spurting from the wound like a fountain.

"I can't stop it!" Natasha exclaimed.

Thor gripped Steve's leg, but even the pressure of a god's hand wasn't enough.

"He'll bleed out," Clint exclaimed, helpless in his perch atop a nearby building.

"Cauterize it!" Steve moaned.

"How…?"

"Tony, your repulsors," Steve gasped. His vision was graying out.

"But …" Tony hesitated. He used the repulsors sometimes to weld metal, not mend human flesh.

"Burn it!" Steve fell back, panting. "Please."

"Tony, you've got to do it. He can recover from burns, not from bleeding out," Natasha said urgently.

Tony clenched his teeth, trying to think how to do this without burning Steve's leg off. Clenching his teeth so tight they creaked, Tony turned his left hand repulsor on his own right hand until the fingers glowed and he could feel the warmth despite the heavy insulation.

The rush of blood was lessening, a bad sign for Cap.

"Thor, hold him still. This is going to hurt," Tony ordered.

The thunder god pressed the limb down and Tony clamped his glowing fingers around the wound. The super soldier's flesh sizzled. Only half conscious, Steve bucked and screamed as the edges of the wound melted together.

In nightmares Tony Stark remembered surgery without anesthetic, his own screams, his own body writhing as brutal hands held him still. Now he was doing the same to his teammate, his comrade, his almost-friend. Tony's hand shook and the burn mark grew jagged on Cap's leg.

"Hold him still!" Natasha cried, believing the ragged line was because of Steve's twisting body and not Tony's trembling hand.

Natasha threw her body across Steve's chest to try to hold the injured man still.

Tony firmed his jaw and steadied his hand.

Thor stood firm, despite the heat radiating within an inch of his hands. The thunder god played with lightning. He was not afraid of heat.

The smell of scorched flesh and drying blood made Tony nauseated when he raised his visor again. The bleeding had stopped, but Tony didn't know if the drastic action had come too late. Cap lay silent and unmoving, looking far too young and helpless to be the leader of the Avengers.

Natasha felt for a pulse. "Weak, but steady," she announced.

They heard a sigh of relief from on high. "The androids are massing to attack Hulk on Eighth. Looks like there are fifty of them," Clint reported. "What do we do, Stark?"

Natasha and Thor looked at Iron Man expectantly — all of them trusting him to lead because Cap trusted him. Trouble was, Tony didn't trust himself.

"Stark?" Clint prodded. "The Big Guy's tough, but I don't think he's that tough."

Stark dropped his visor. With Tony safely hidden behind Iron Man's mask, he stood.

"Thor, take Cap to safety. Don't leave him alone. Don't leave him with strangers, not for a moment," Iron Man ordered.

They had too many enemies and Cap was too visible a target when he couldn't defend himself.

Thor nodded. "As you command, but will you not need my help?"

They heard a distant roar of fury from the Hulk as the androids launched their attack.

"I think we've got this," Iron Man said coldly. He slipped Cap's shield over his arm. It would perfect his battering ram maneuver. "Hulk is angry and I'm pretty pissed, too."

They heard an explosion as Clint fired an arrow into the crowd of androids swarming Hulk.

"They don't have a chance," Black Widow agreed. She held out her hands for a lift and she and Iron Man jetted into the fray.

* * *

While the battle raged, Thor found help for Captain America and stood over the nervous paramedics while they pumped blood and plasma into the wounded Avenger. That was all Cap seemed to need. His eyes were blinking open when the rest of the team found them a remarkably short time later. The androids really hadn't stood a chance against the infuriated Avengers.

By the next morning they had moved the injured Avenger back to the infirmary at Avenger's Tower. There really wasn't much the doctors could do for Cap. Painkillers and antibiotics were quickly metabolized by the super soldier serum. The only thing the doctors could do was pump fluids, nutrients and glucose into Steve's body as fuel for his body to heal itself. Bruce could do that in the tower, where they all felt safer.

The Avengers gathered around as Thor carefully lifted Steve into the bed. Bruce fussed over his patient, but the others were silent. Cap hadn't been seriously injured before. They were more used to him standing at their bedsides while they recuperated. Seeing Steve on the bed was just wrong on so many levels. First, he was in agony, though he tried to hide it, because painkillers didn't work. Second, he looked so darned young when he lay there. And third, well, dammit, Captain America shouldn't look so hurt and helpless.

Visible beneath a pair of sleep shorts, a thick bandage covered the burn Tony had inflicted on Cap. Tony cringed to see the tight lines around Steve's eyes and the catch in his breath every time he moved. The dark circles under his eyes indicated he hadn't gotten much sleep.

"The pulse in your ankle is strong. Doesn't look like any permanent damage was done to the artery. How bad is the pain?" Bruce asked gently. "On a scale of 1 to 10?"

"About a 12," Cap confessed, trying to control his panting. At Bruce's worried look, Steve added, trying to reassure his team. "It's getting better. Earlier it was an 18. And yesterday a 27." He huffed a laugh, but none of his friends joined in. For the same reason Captain America couldn't get drunk, he couldn't get any benefit from painkillers. Nothing relieved his suffering.

"I made up something that might help," Bruce said. He'd worked all night on his chemical concoction. "May I?" He pulled the blanket away from Steve's bandaged leg.

Steve nodded, biting his lip when Bruce carefully peeled away the bandage, revealing the long burn scab surrounded by angry red skin.

Tony had to swallow hard when he could plainly see fingermarks in the scar pattern.

Bruce carefully laid a long, damp dressing over the wound.

Steve blinked. "Wow!"

"Better?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah, what…?"

"I thought that a topical anesthetic might work better. It acts directly to soothe the skin and nerves instead of trying to fight the super soldier serum in your blood. So how's the pain now?"

The ease of pain was such a relief, Steve closed his eyes and lay back against the pillow. "About a 7."

Bruce looked disappointed.

"Hey, compared to a 12…" Steve offered consolation. "Thanks, Bruce." His lids blinked shut again.

"Think you can sleep now?" Bruce asked.

Steve nodded without opening his eyes.

"Sleep as long as you can, then. I'll change the dressing when it dries out," Bruce said. He gestured his unusually silent friends to leave.

"Guys." Steve's quiet voice stopped them. "Thanks for the save."

Natasha stroked his sweat-soaked hair. "Next time just tell me to duck. Don't leave yourself open like that."

"He would have taken your head off," Steve said, not arguing, just stating his case.

Clint squeezed his shoulder, then whispered in Steve's ear. "She may not say, 'thank you,' but I do."

Steve thanked Thor and Bruce for their help. They offered their well wishes to Steve then filed out. Feeling a need to live up to his reputation, Tony said, "This discovery of yours calls for serious thought, Bruce. Maybe we could get Cap drunk by dunking him in a vat of scotch?"

Steve chuckled. "Hey, Tony. I don't think I said thank you to you. So … thanks."

Tony swallowed. Thanks for screams and pain on a scale of 27? Tony mumbled something that might have been "you're welcome" and escaped with the others.

* * *

By the third day, Steve was out of bed and walking with a cane and a heavy limp. By the end of the week, all that was left were two scars, one on Steve's leg and one on Tony's memory.

* * *

"I think you need to shower before our workout," Clint said in amusement.

The Avengers had planned a team training exercise to practice tactics and see how Steve's leg was recuperating. Tony entered the gym with oil covering his arms up to his elbows and running down his back to soak his KISS T-shirt. A little cleaning bot followed behind him, wiping up every drip as it fell on the floor. Natasha put out her foot to prevent it from entering the gym — it might get squashed during their exercise. The door swooshed shut behind Tony who headed straight for the showers.

"The oil pan gave way," the billionaire explained. "Back in a minute."

It took three shampooings to get the oil out of his hair. When he finally felt clean, he went to his locker for workout clothes. Just outside the small locker room, he saw the team gathered around Steve, who sat with his wounded leg outstretched. He wore running shorts and Tony assumed everyone was examining his scar.

Tony's stomach roiled at the memory of blood and screams. He forced it away. Steve was fine. He was right there talking to the others.

"Fascinating," Bruce said.

"Did you ever get a real tattoo?" Clint asked curiously.

A mirror showed Tony just a flash of the scornful look Steve gave Hawkeye. "Barton, I was in the Army," Steve said. "The commandos talked me into getting a tattoo. There was enough of an artist in me that I waited to find a really good artist." Steve tapped his bare, unmarked shoulder. "He put a beautiful bald eagle right there."

Of course it was an eagle, Tony thought.

"It scabbed over and when it healed, the tattoo was gone. Not a mark left." Steve sounded disappointed.

"Maybe this will disappear, too," Bruce said. He bent over, seeming to poke at Steve's thigh. "It certainly seems to be fused in there."

"What are you guys talking about?" Tony demanded, as he emerged from the locker room.

"Look at this," Clint invited.

There was a line of bright blue on Steve's thigh. It was colorful like a tattoo but slightly raised like a fading scar. As Tony remembered all too well, it was right where the slashing wound had been. But where did the color come from?

Then Tony realized. It was the same color as the Captain America uniform. Tony's grip had fused part of Cap's suit into his skin.

Steve was braced for a quip along the line of red, white and blue in the flesh. He wasn't ready for Tony to spin and race for the restroom or for the sounds of vomiting that followed.

Tony vomited so violently, he thought he'd thrown up his last two meals, but the smell of blood and burning flesh was in his nose and mouth all over again. He heard the screams again. He shuddered.

He climbed to his feet, flushed the toilet and went to the sink to splash water on his face.

"Are you all right?" Steve asked, setting a glass of water on the ledge.

"Yes. Thanks." Tony could not look at him, for fear he would see that obscene scar again.

"Tony. Tony, look at me," Steve said, his Captain America patience on full.

Tony finally met his eyes, careful not to look down.

Steve quirked a tiny grin. "It's OK, when I stand up the shorts cover it," he said.

Tony's eyes couldn't help but flash down to see that Cap told the truth. (Cap always told the truth.)

"I didn't realize it would bother you so much. It's just a funny colored scar."

"It's not the scar. It's the memory," Tony said shortly.

"What about the memory?" the team leader probed.

Tony hung his head. "I made Captain America scream," he said in little more than a whisper. If Cap hadn't had super hearing, he wouldn't have caught it.

There was a pause as he processed the statement, then he rested his big, warm hand on Tony's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Tony looked at him wildly. "I burned you, I welded your leg and it hurt so bad that you screamed. And you never scream. Why are you apologizing to me?"

Steve leaned back against the tiled wall. His eyes were kind and sad. "I should have controlled myself better."

"Buddy, you're allowed to scream when someone is burning your leg," Tony answered.

"I'm not worried about the scream, only about its affect on you," Steve said earnestly. "Tony, I've been hurt before, been burned before. This was a transient event for me."

Tony couldn't help but smile. "'Transient?' Big word for a boy from Brooklyn."

Steve rolled his eyes, glad to hear a little of the familiar snarky Stark. "I was a sickly kid," he reminded Tony. "I spent a lot of time in bed reading. We didn't have TV in those days. But what I'm saying is, for me it's over. I was hurt. Now I'm healing. I was in pain. Now I'm not. One and done. It's bothering you more than me, and I'm sorry for that."

"You're incredible."

"So I've been told," Steve smirked a little Starkesque smile, then said earnestly. "Tony, you saved my life. I heal fast, but if I bleed out, I'm finished like anyone else. And look." He did a one-legged squat on his wounded leg, smoothly down and easily up again. "See, no harm done."

Tony just shook his head.

Steve tried for humor. "Stark, I didn't realize you liked me well enough to worry about it."

"I don't have to like you to not want your job," Tony retorted, sounding more like himself. Steve was fine. He wasn't screaming. He wasn't bleeding. He was fine.

"If you don't want my job, you'll just have to keep welding me back together," Steve said.

Tony shuddered, but straightened up valiantly. "Don't make a habit of it," he warned, already mentally sketching out a design for adding a medical laser to his suit. That would be kinder to human flesh.

"Not planning on it," Steve said, guiding Tony back to the others. And then he proved that Cap might not lie, but Steve would lie for a friend.

"Honestly, Tony, leftover sushi is always a bad idea, especially for breakfast," he said, as they returned to the others.

Tony almost gave him a pathetic look of gratitude for the save, but that would have spoiled the alibi.

"You're against sushi even when it's fresh," Tony accused.

"You know what we called that back in my day — bait," Steve said.

"OMG, get a camera. Captain America made a joke. Someone call Tom Bergeron!" Tony gasped.

Steve was pleased. He got that popular reference. Or did he? He frowned, "Wait, what does a sushi joke have to do with ballroom dancing?"

* * *

_A/N: For those of you not in the know, Tom Bergeron is the host of both "America's Funniest Videos" and "Dancing With the Stars." Since Steve wanted to learn to dance, he might watch "Dancing." And wouldn't Cap be a great contestant? He already has the spangly outfit. *Grin*_


	7. Seeing is Believing

**Seeing is Believing**

Clint Barton's primary specialty with SHIELD is security. Seriously, do you think they would assign a mere assassin to stand guard over otherworldly objects of immeasurable power? No, assassin/sniper was his secondary specialty.

Anyway, as a security expert, it made him twitchy to rely on someone else's security even if it was designed by a genius and controlled by the most advanced AI in the world.

When Clint asked to vet the tower's security procedures, Tony graciously (ie, with less sarcasm than usual) granted permission for him to work with Jarvis to look for blind spots and make any recommendations for improvements.

This was a display of trust that Clint — who wasn't sure he trusted himself after Loki's takeover — really appreciated because he knew Tony was paranoid (with reason) and didn't trust SHIELD (also with reason). But Tony did trust Clint not to tattle to his employers.

Of course, Tony didn't give Clint access to all of Avengers Tower's deepest secrets because, hello?, didn't you read "paranoid" above?

So far, the only blind spots Clint found in Jarvis' cameras were deliberate, such as bedrooms and bathrooms, though Jarvis' sensors could still tell him how many people were in the bedrooms and bathrooms and, based on such things as size and heart rate, could determine whether that person was authorized to be in said bedroom.

But going through the more public areas of the tower, Clint found another blind spot. He saw Tony in his lab, one leg hooked over the corner of a table, expounding on some topic. A quick flip of the audio button told Clint he was talking about removing the Iron Man suit manually. But Clint couldn't swivel the camera far enough to see the person Tony was talking to. All he could see was a sleeve-clad elbow.

Clint turned off the audio (because he was inspecting, not snooping) and reported the blind spot to Jarvis.

"Mr. Stark prefers to keep that side of the lab private, in case he wants to work on something SHIELD shouldn't know about," Jarvis answered.

Clint chuckled. "He told you to tell me that, didn't he?"

"Of course, sir, I wouldn't presume to insult a guest otherwise."

Clint left Tony and Bruce — because who else would Tony talk science to? — to their discussion and cycled through the cameras in the other rooms. Nice field of view from two cameras in the empty lounge and a good view of Bruce making a sandwich in the kitchen.

"Wait, if Bruce is in the kitchen, who's in the lab with Tony?"

"A check of the sensor data should show you," Jarvis coached.

"Or I can rerun the corridor footage until I see who went in. Or I could just ask you, because you already know," Clint suggested.

"Of course, sir, but where would be the fun in that?"

"You are a marvel, Jarvis," Clint said in honest admiration. "You are the third wonder of the world."

"Third, sir?"

"Well, the pyramids at Giza are the only one of the ancient wonders that still exists," Clint explained. "But I would have to put the Parthenon on my list because it's taking ten times as long to restore it as it took to build it in the first place."

"That's very kind of you, sir. I could, perhaps, compile a more complete list with more notable achievements in human construction, such as Petra."

"You could, but this is my list and you are firmly in third place," Clint said.

He returned to the cameras and sensors in the lab, taking in the height and weight of the visitor and finding an unusually low heart rate, a slightly elevated body temperature and a higher than normal muscle density.

"Is that Cap?"

"It is, indeed, Captain America," Jarvis confirmed, showing a replay of Tony greeting Steve Rogers, sans costume but carrying a gym bag and his shield with a jacket draped over it.

And there, plain in the sensors when he thought to look for it, was the pure vibranium disk.

"That must be hard for him to carry around discreetly," Clint said thoughtfully. "We need to think about that." But his thoughts skittered elsewhere. "Is his temperature always so high, or is he sick?" Clint asked with concern.

"Indeed, the high temperature seems to be natural. The only well person I've seen with a higher temperature was Johnny Storm of the Fantastic Four."

"And he bursts into flame at irregular intervals," Clint said.

"Indeed. Mr. Stark believes Captain Roger's temperature has to do with his rapid metabolism. His body temperature has been close to 100 degrees Fahrenheit every time I have seen him and SHIELD records indicate the same, once he stabilized after 67 years of hypothermia."

Clint did NOT ask about Jarvis' access to SHIELD records, though, in fact, this wasn't stolen. It was part of the Avengers Initiative information that Coulson gave to Tony.

"Well, now I'm curious. And since I promised not to eavesdrop, if I want to find out what they're talking about I'll have to go and ask. Mark where we left off and we'll get back to it another time," Clint said. Though he was feeling satisfied with Tony's security now, he was a thorough man and wouldn't leave his self-appointed task unfinished.

-AV-

"I couldn't believe what I saw on the monitors," he told Tony when he was admitted to the lab, where Tony was still talking and Steve was making notes on a pad of paper. "I couldn't believe you let 'Captain Clueless' in your lab!" Clint said it with a wink at Steve who just grinned. They both knew it was a direct quote from an exasperated Tony the first time he tried to explain email to Steve.

But, perverse as he was, Tony hated to be quoted or to have his judgment questioned.

"He's not 'clueless,' just … 'undereducated,'" Tony said. "I mean, he did fix the helicarrier engine after somebody broke it."

Clint's eyes went dark at the memory of firing an explosive arrow to damage the engine. Frowning in rebuke, Steve threw an eraser that hit the leg Tony had slung over the corner of the table. He yelped and bounced away. "Loki, I meant Loki," he protested, because he'd been immediately sorry for reminding Clint of being possessed.

"No, it was me," Clint said heavily. "I blew up one engine and shut down the second."

"That only goes to show you were still fighting," Steve said.

"How do you get that?" Clint ask, voice edging on sarcasm.

"You damaged one engine and shut down the other," Steve answered. "You could have destroyed them both."

"The plan was to free Loki and escape. Didn't want the helicarrier to crash immediately," Clint replied.

"You still could have damaged the first engine beyond repair. Heck, you could have blown it clear off the helicarrier," Steve said.

That was true, Clint realized. That's what he should have done and he could have. "I could have," he said aloud. "I had time to fire three explosive arrows. The engine would have torn off completely."

"You couldn't fight Loki entirely, but you gave us a chance to fix it," Tony said.

Maybe. Clint couldn't banish his guilt completely, but maybe he could forgive himself someday. He said as much.

"We forgive you," Steve said instantly.

"And we trust you," Tony added. "I wouldn't give you access to Jarvis if I didn't."

Clint couldn't find the words to say thank you for this undeserved gift, so he changed the subject. "So, Steve's the one who fixed the engine?" Clint said skeptically.

Steve laughed. "Following Tony's instructions," he said. "Otherwise, it was just a mass of electronic spaghetti."

"Well, most of us would have needed Tony's instructions to fix it," Clint acknowledged. "There probably weren't a dozen techs on the helicarrier who knew how the engines worked. But why didn't you fix it, Tony?"

"He was doing the heavy work," Steve answered for his friend. "He got the debris out of the engine while I rewired the panel. And then Iron Man cranked the engine up to full speed — from the inside!" Steve was still impressed by the self-sacrificing gesture. "That's when I knew I owed him an apology. I knew he would lie down on the wire for his comrades. The nuke was just the second example that day."

Tony cleared his throat, uncomfortable at having Captain America call him a hero. "It's not like you were sitting on your hands."

Steve shrugged. Clint asked what Tony meant.

"Oh! You've got to see this!" Tony said, and unabashedly called up SHIELD security footage. They watched Cap leaping back and forth over a drop that was sure to kill him, batting away a grenade, battling gunmen and exposing himself to gunfire to reach the lever that would free Iron Man. Despite knowing the two men were safe, Clint was holding his breath by the time Iron Man tackled the last gunman who was about to shoot Cap in the back.

"Wow. You two make a great team," Clint said.

Tony and Steve exchanged a glance. Tony's was self-mocking; Steve's was oddly shy.

"Considering I can only understand one word out of twenty that he says, we do pretty well," Steve admitted.

"Oh yeah, what are you doing here, anyway?" Clint remembered the reason he'd come to the lab in the first place.

"I wanted to know how to get Tony out of his armor — in case of emergency," Steve said.

"But he didn't understand my explanation."

"One word in twenty."

"It's a good thing Bruce is a genius, too. He pointed out that Steve likes to draw. Perhaps he's a visual learner," Tony said.

"So he started showing me instead of telling me," Steve said.

"Show him that diagram," Tony urged.

Steve turned his notepad to face Clint and the archer saw that Steve wasn't taking notes; he was drawing a circuit diagram.

"Look at that. It's beautiful. It's easier to understand than a photo," Tony said, shaking his head.

"That's all in the shading," Steve explained, confident in a subject he did understand. With a few quick strokes, he added depth and dimension to the drawing and you could see these wires here were the critical ones. "So if I press here to open the panel, then I reconnect this wire here …" He continued to recount the steps necessary to remove the face and chest plates in order to help a possibly injured Tony.

"And now that he's got it, he won't forget it," Tony told Clint.

"Can't. Can't forget it," Steve said.

"Serum enhanced brain power," Clint said nodding. "You know what this means," he told Tony, tongue-in-cheek.

Tony nodded, deadpan. "There is hope that he'll figure out cellphones eventually."

"And cable on demand."

"And email and text messages."

Steve shook his head good-naturedly. "One thing at a time," he begged. "I do have the microwave oven figured out — and the coffee maker."

"There's a soldier for you. He goes for the basic survival skills first," Clint joked.

"Right. Right!" Tony exclaimed, as the light dawned. "Then if we remind him that the cellphone is an essential communications device…"

"As long as you show me instead of telling me!" Steve begged.


	8. Art's Sake

_This chapter begins immediately after the last one. And it got long. _

**Art's Sake**

Clint Barton flipped back through Steve Rogers' sketchpad and laughed out loud.

He showed Tony Stark the drawings in the margins of Steve's notes. Iron Man swooped, turned in mid-air and aimed a repulsor glove.

Each sketch was just a few lines, but the character and action were clear.

Steve blushed to be caught doodling on his notes, though the other two admired the work.

"You should draw comic books," Clint commented, then he turned more pages despite Steve's halfhearted efforts to reclaim the pad. Clint stopped with a sharp intake of breath.

Steve covered his eyes, afraid to look.

It was a drawing of Clint and Natasha from that day when they sent Thor and Loki back to Asgard. This drawing must have started as a sketch from memory, but Steve had worked on it and filled it in until it was fully realized. Clint could see himself hiding behind his sunglasses and his crossed arms. Steve had caught the moment Nat punched a hole in his wall, whispering a rude comment about Loki that brought a smile to Clint's face. The depth of their friendship was plain.

Clint felt like his soul had been stripped bare for all to see and for a moment he was angry, then he was amazed that Steve had seen so much and put it on paper with pencil lines and shading.

This was Steve's private, top-secret notebook — which is why he was using it to document the Iron Man suit. He hadn't meant to show these drawings to anyone. He waited anxiously for Clint's response.

The agent swallowed. "I was wrong. You're a genuine artist, museum quality."

"It's just a sketch," Steve said quietly.

"No, this shows so much. It's almost embarrassing how much it shows."

"I'm sorry…" Steve started.

"Don't apologize," Clint said sharply. "This is real talent. You shouldn't hide it."

Looking at the picture, Tony had been uncharacteristically silent. Now he cleared his throat and said, "It's not fair to use your super observation powers on your teammates. Don't ever draw a picture of me."

"Page 4," Clint said with a false cough deliberately failing to cover his words.

Tony flipped hastily to the page. Steve hid his face.

This was another drawing that had been partially filled in. Though the edges were merely sketched in, the center showed Tony leaning back with a cocky smirk on his lips and such contradictory tenderness in his eyes that anyone who knew him knew he must have been looking at Pepper in that moment.

"No one looking at that would ever ask what Pepper sees in you," Clint said.

Tony started to speak, but had to clear his throat before any actual words came out. "Fury definitely needs to add this to your list of super powers."

"Have you always been able to do this, Steve?" Clint asked. "Always" meaning before the serum.

Steve considered the question seriously. "I can remember a scene better now, place a line more precisely; but I could always draw," he answered finally. "There was a teacher in grade school who taught me some basics. She mentioned art school to my mother. But then came 1929 and the Great Depression and my father's death, then there wasn't any money for school of any kind. I learned a little more from an old man who drew portraits in the park for pennies. He had been an artist in Germany and, because he was a Jew, left during the early days of Nazism, preferring 'poverty in a country where Jews were still permitted to walk around free.'" The last part was obviously a quote from the old man.

"Could you do a painting?" Tony asked curiously.

"Not oils," Steve answered. "I've never used oils. Too expensive. Mostly I drew with pencils or charcoal. Got a used box of pastels once, as a reward for helping out an artist's widow. I'd like to try watercolors," he said wistfully.

"Art school," Clint declared. "We need to find you a good art school."

"But it's got to be one that wouldn't try to change his style," Tony argued.

Clint had taken back the sketchpad and was admiring a view of the top-secret helicarrier flight deck with top-secret quinjets. (It's Steve's top-secret notebook, remember.)

"Could you draw World War II planes and vehicles, because there's a market for that," Clint said.

"And if you signed paintings 'Captain America,' you could make more money than Picasso," Tony enthused, then thought to explain, "Picasso, he's …"

"A painter, yes," Steve said kindly. "I saw an exhibition of his works at the Museum of Modern Art in 1939. I didn't really understand Guernica at the time, but after I saw the aftermath of a battle in a small village, I realized he'd captured it perfectly. I don't think I could take to Cubism, though. I'm more of a realist. And I'm not painting under Captain America's name," he added firmly.

"It would certainly help sell the pictures," Clint pointed out, not arguing, just stating a fact.

"Yes, and some zoos sell paintings by elephants and gorillas. How would I ever know if people bought my paintings because they liked them or just because Cap drew them," Steve said. "I never liked being a performing monkey."

Surprisingly (or maybe not), Tony understood. I mean, yes, he put the Stark name on everything, but that was the Stark name, not Iron Man's. And, come to think of it, he made sure the whole world knew Iron Man was Stark-tech, too.

* * *

Over the next several days, Tony and Clint helped Steve with research about art schools. That is to say, they did the research and badgered Steve about picking their favorites until Bruce Banner stepped in and told them to behave or he would get angry. (They didn't want to see him angry — not indoors in their living quarters.)

Though Tony was willing to pay for the highest price art institute, Steve chose the simplest, the local community college.

"I just want to learn more about the basics," he told his argumentative friends. "And I can't concentrate on art full time. It would interfere with my day job," he said dryly.

So he began taking a basic watercolor class, twice a week, two hours each day. He found he really liked it. He made friends who talked about perspective and color wash instead of weapons and tactics. Now Steve Rogers had friends, not just Captain America; but Steve wondered, who is Steve Rogers anyway?

* * *

One day Bruce got a text message that just read "Assemble" with an address. Then a moment later, a second text, "Please?"

If it was a trap, it was a polite trap. Bruce didn't think anyone but the Avengers knew their joking battle cry, first bellowed by Thor when he was beset by hundreds of mutant rats. (Who else but Thor would shout, 'Avengers assemble,' and mean it?) Still, Bruce proceeded cautiously, leaving a message that his computer would deliver to Tony in one hour unless he canceled it.

The meeting place was a relief to see, a busy diner with old-fashioned décor and an upscale menu. Bruce looked around uncertainly when he entered.

"May I help you?" a pert waitress asked.

"I'm looking for someone," Bruce answered hesitantly.

"You Bruce?" the girl asked. When given an affirmative, she tipped her head toward the back of the diner, "Back there, far left booth."

Bruce went cautiously, but was much relieved to see Steve sitting there nursing a cup of coffee. He sat down facing his friend.

"I'm glad to see you and not General Ross," Bruce said.

"Sorry. Too cloak and dagger?" Steve asked. "I didn't want Clint or Tony to know you were meeting me. I didn't want to give them more ammunition to tease me. They've already got plenty."

"They get carried away sometimes," Bruce agreed, as he used his cellphone to cancel the message to Tony.

"They were a big help in getting me to take art classes, but I can't ask them this. My classmates are getting curious about me and I don't know what to tell them." He stared into his cup. "Steve Rogers never had much of a life before he became Captain America, and then he was Captain America. Tony takes off his armor and he's not Iron Man any more. I want Steve to have a life apart from Cap."

Bruce said he understood. Heaven knew, he wanted a life apart from the Hulk.

"I still have so many gaps in my knowledge, things everyone takes for granted. Max and Amy tried to pull me into a Mac vs. PC debate and I didn't have a clue. And Kelly was enthusing about the art in 'Avatar' and I wasn't sure if it was a movie, a comic book or a museum exhibit. They're going to get suspicious," Steve said miserably.

"To answer those specific questions, Macs and PCs are computer platforms." Steve still looked confused. "You know, like politicians have platforms, how the Democrats and Republicans do things. Macs and PCs are the Democrat and Republican parties of the computer world. But all you have to say is you prefer Stark-tech, that's all Tony will let you play with anyway."

"That would be the Bull Moose Party, strictly independent," Steve joked.

"As for Avatar, there may be a comic book or even a museum exhibit, but the origin is a CGI movie and we'll see if we can watch it before the next class. But that doesn't solve your basic problem of being out of touch," Bruce mused.

"I hate to lie to people." Steve hung his head again.

"It's best to tell as few lies as possible. OK, try this: you didn't have a lot of money when you were a kid. Your father was killed in a construction accident and your mother worked cleaning office buildings. You were sick a lot as a kid, so there never was much money for high tech toys; and you were homeschooled, because you were sick so much, so you missed out on a lot of the things kids do. That's how you got into drawing, being alone so much."

"That's all true, pretty much. Even the part about taking lessons at home," Steve said.

"Hey, I've paid attention the few times you've talked about yourself," Bruce said. "You outgrew your asthma — a lot of kids do — and became a fitness nut, so you don't watch a lot of TV or movies or play with computers. You're more into books and art exhibits."

Steve smiled, "Also mostly true. Dr. Erskine's formula helped me outgrow the asthma, but otherwise, that sounds like me." He frowned. "It's funny, Mrs. Martin and the other students all seem to assume I'm in the military, even though I've never said so."

Bruce tried and failed to hide a grin. "It's because you don't have a Southern accent."

Steve was baffled.

"You call everyone 'sir' or 'ma'am'. The only people who do that habitually these days are either from the South or well trained by the military. Plus there's your commanding stance. You just look like an Army man, Steve."

"OK, but then they'll wonder where I've been deployed and why I have this free time."

"That's easy. Tell them you can't talk about your job, it's classified — which is true. At the moment, you're on detached duty recuperating from injuries suffered in a plane crash — which is also true."

Steve gaped at him. "It scares me how well you make the truth sound like a lie."

"Remember, Steve, I've been on the run for a while," Bruce said. "Just give your new friends a little dribble of the truth and they'll make up the rest. It's human nature. And we believe the stories we make up ourselves even better than the true ones."

* * *

Following Bruce's advice, Steve settled into his class. He still seemed a little odd, but artists are allowed to be a little odd. He was helpful and friendly and polite. A little to his surprise, he soon found himself popular and was invited to a gallery opening and other group events. When two girls and one guy hinted that they might be interested in one-on-one meetings, Steve said he wasn't ready to get involved with anyone after the recent death of his girlfriend and the subject was dropped without acrimony. (And it was true from Steve's point of view.)

The Avengers thought the class was good for Steve. He was getting out and learning more about the 21st century.

And he was even learning about art.

* * *

Steve bounced exuberantly into the Assembly Room, then paused, one foot still raised, to see so many people and not the one he wanted. Natasha and Clint sat next to Pepper on the couch while she showed them old photos on a Starkpad. Bruce sat in an armchair nearby, eyeglasses perched on his nose while he read a scientific journal. Tony was nowhere in view.

"Clint, Natasha! I didn't know you guys were back," Steve said. He settled on the arm of the couch next to Clint and rested his oversized artist's portfolio case against his leg.

Bruce closed his journal and looked over his glasses at Steve. The others exchanged quick glances. They'd never seen their staid captain so fizzy. He was grinning from ear to ear and his fingers tapped an unheard rhythm on his knee.

"What are you so happy about?" Pepper asked, smiling because his happiness was infectious.

"We got our first quarter grades today," Steve said. "I got an A on my portfolio."

His face fell a bit at the lack of reaction. Pepper leaned across the two assassins to pat his hand. "Of course, you did. We never had a doubt."

"You're Captain America. You're talented and diligent. We're not surprised you got an A," Clint explained.

"But we're happy for you," Bruce said. "Congratulations."

Steve's uncharacteristically broad smile flashed again. "I wasn't so sure," he confessed. "We all went out to the coffee shop to celebrate after class."

Well, maybe that explained the tapping finger. Too much caffeine and a coffee shop song stuck in his head.

"How many cups did you have?" Clint asked with a grin.

Steve looked a little surprised. "Three. They were really small and I was thirsty." His fingers indicated a shot glass sized cup.

The others all laughed. "Espresso shots?" Clint chortled. "Cap, those are like concentrated caffeine. I think you're wired."

Steve's eyes glazed, as if he was taking an internal audit. "Huh!" He laughed at himself. "Maybe I am. It won't last long, about an hour."

"And then you crash," Natasha predicted.

"Maybe, I've never been 'wired' before." At least he wasn't jittery and annoying; he was just a little amped and excited, which might have been the result of the good grade and not the coffee at all, Pepper thought. But best to take precautions.

"Jarvis, please fire up the espresso maker in case we need a little hair of the dog."

"Of course, Miss Potts," the computerized voice replied.

"What was in your portfolio?" Natasha asked, because collecting information was her default programming.

"We turned in four watercolors: a portrait, a miniature, a landscape and an action scene."

"May we see?" Natasha asked politely.

Steve beamed at being asked. He unzipped his portfolio case. Clint tapped it with his toe. "Nice case," the archer said with a significant look.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, thanks for helping me find the right size. I like big canvases and it's got a handle or straps so I can carry it like a suitcase or a backpack."

"It looks very well made," Pepper said politely.

Steve pulled out a big canvas and everyone stopped talking. It was his landscape, actually a cityscape. It showed the view from the Empire State Building observation deck.

Clint and Natasha nodded unconsciously. Steve had kept security in mind by not painting the view from Avengers Tower. You could see the tower with its big A in the picture, but it was off to one side while other buildings took center stage. The painting showed rain clouds just drifting away and the city looked washed clean, with puddles reflecting lights, cars kicking up spray and passersby folding their umbrellas. And Clint wondered how he could tell all that when the street seemed so far below.

"Wow! No wonder you got an A," he said with honest appreciation. "That's my kind of picture, a view from a distance."

Bruce chuckled. From his seat, he could see the title on the back. Steve turned it to show Clint it was called "A Hawk's View."

"What else do you have?" Bruce asked.

"This is my action picture." It was all slashing lines and diagonals. A pair of World War II Mustang fighter planes dove out of one corner in pursuit of a Messerschmitt. Below them, American soldiers charged after Nazi troops in retreat. The planes were well detailed, the battle below just sketched in.

"Is this you?" Bruce asked, pointing at a speck of bright blue and red near the head of the troops.

"And the Howling Commandos," Steve agreed, pointing out his friends. No one could have identified them from the minimal detail, but if you knew what it was supposed to represent, you could pick them out, the little group of oddballs amid the uniformed troops.

"It takes my breath away, Steve," Bruce said honestly.

"I thought I'd try a historical piece. Clint and Tony said they're popular now." Steve studied it critically, then his grin flashed again. "My teacher said it was very well researched but she wished I'd done something from my personal experience."

The others burst out laughing.

"Is this the miniature?" Pepper asked, gingerly picking up a small piece Steve had carefully set out of the way of the bigger, more unwieldy canvases.

It was an oval portrait no bigger than a silver dollar, a woman's determined face with a '40s hairstyle. The others knew it had to be Peggy Carter. "She was beautiful, and you can see the personality here, too," Pepper said. "She was a spitfire, wasn't she?"

"She was."

"How'd you explain this one?" Natasha asked.

"That she was my late girlfriend dressed for a costume party. We'd shared a common interest in the 1940s," Steve answered, his voice such a jumble of emotions his friends couldn't pick one out.

Pepper was sorry to see bouncy Steve submerged under sad Steve. He was such a calm, steady, commanding presence so much of the time, they forgot he was the youngest of them all in years spent awake and aware. It was nice to see him simply as a twenty-something college student happy about the good grade he'd gotten on his art project.

As if picking up on her thought, the three Avengers began praising the paintings and asking questions about technique. Steve answered and grew so technical that Bruce and Clint's eyes began to cross. Was this a little payback for the many times Steve had been confused by explanations? A sly glint in Steve's eye led Natasha to believe this was so.

"Where's Tony?" Steve asked, changing subject abruptly.

"He got a call from Rhodey. He shouldn't be long," Pepper answered. "Why?"

"I have something I wanted to give him," Steve replied, as he took out a package wrapped in brown paper. The man with serum-enhanced hearing perked up. "I think I hear him coming." He went to the door and then out into the corridor.

With his attention on the door, Steve didn't see Pepper and Natasha tense. "What?" Clint asked.

"Tony's got a phobia. He doesn't like to be handed things," Natasha said as quietly as she could. Fortunately all Steve's nervous attention was on Tony's approach or he could have heard their conversation easily. "When he wants to be rude about it, he says so straight out and refuses to take it."

"If he doesn't feel the need to be rude — like to a pizza delivery man — he makes sure his hands are full and tells the person to put down whatever he brought," Pepper added. "There aren't very many people who can hand him things."

"I've handed Tony things in the lab," Bruce said from behind them. He'd moved behind the couch to listen to their suddenly serious conversation.

"Did he ask you to hand him something, because that doesn't count," Pepper said.

Bruce thought back. "The Shimmerman Report and a new polymer I wanted him to test. He didn't ask for those, but he took them from my hand."

"Then he trusts you," Pepper said. "I hope he doesn't hurt Steve's feelings."

Now they could all hear Tony coming, still talking into his phone. He carried a martini glass in his other hand, which relieved Pepper's mind. Steve wouldn't think twice about the "hands full" excuse.

Tony came in, followed by Steve still clutching his package.

"OK. I've got to go. See you next week. Drinks are on me," Tony said into the phone.

Faintly from the phone the others heard Rhodey's voice, "And dinner and dessert."

"What do you think, I'm made of money?" the billionaire cracked, then hung up before his oldest friend could reply. "You want something, Cap?" he said the hovering hero beside him.

"I brought you something," Steve said, holding out the package.

Pepper held her breath.

Tony set down his glass and his phone on the bar and took the package as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Pepper let out a small sigh of relief and smiled proudly. Her little boy was learning to play well with others.

"It's not my birthday," Tony said, as he ripped the package open.

"This is a thank you for convincing me to go back to art school," Steve said. "I got an A on it."

Tony was not listening. He was staring, while Steve watched him nervously. Tony sat precariously on a barstool and groped for his martini glass. His fumbling fingers knocked it off the bar. Steve's quick reflexes scooped it out of the air before it could smash on the floor, but Tony didn't even look. He only had eyes for the painting.

"What is it, Stark?" Clint called.

"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Tony said, coming out of his daze. He slid to a steadier seat on the stool and gripped the painting with both hands. "Steve, I don't know what to say."

"Say you like it," Clint suggested.

"More than like. Damn! You are wasted as a superhero, Steve. Give it up and paint fulltime!"

Steve laughed. "You know I can't do that."

"You want to show the rest of the class?" Bruce said.

Tony turned the painting around. Pepper put her hands over her mouth, because the picture was of her. The sun glinted in her strawberry blonde hair and she had that fond, exasperated expression on her face that she only used on Tony.

"Steve!" she exclaimed.

He blushed and toed the floor. "The assignment was to take a picture out of a magazine and paint the person with a different expression on his or her face. I took that picture from Business Women Magazine."

Pepper made a face. The photographer had made her look so stern and cold. Steve's painting was the exact opposite.

"I thought it might be cheating to paint someone I'd actually seen, but just about everyone else picked actors that they've seen before, so Mrs. Martin said it was OK."

"More than OK," Pepper said. "I'm so flattered." She went to stand by Tony, looking more closely at the painting that he'd turned back toward himself. She turned and swiftly kissed Steve on the cheek, before he could duck away. He blushed a deep magenta, but grinned all the while.

Clint felt a little jealous. He'd been just as much a part of sending Steve back to art class, but he swallowed the pettiness and said, "That is a beautiful picture, but it needs a partner."

He went to the bookcase and pulled out the sketchpad that had started this journey. (Steve had decided to leave his "top secret" sketches in the tower where unauthorized people couldn't stumble across them.) Clint flipped to page 4 and the picture of Tony at his loving, smirking best. "Think you could blow up the face on that. Make a matching pair?"

"Oh, Steve, could you?" Pepper breathed.

"Sure," Steve promised easily. "I owe you so much for all your help adapting to the 21st century."

"Then we can hang them side by side," Pepper said, already planning to redecorate their bedroom around the paintings.

Steve slipped aside while the lovers were comparing pictures. He threw his arm around Clint's shoulders. "Tony likes a lot of attention, but I didn't think you would. Want the Hawk's View? I was thinking of you all the time I worked on it. It'll fit on that bare wall opposite your window."

"I'd like that," he agreed.

Knowing he hadn't been forgotten made Clint smile again. He should have known. Captain America was all about fair play. And for some reason, that made him think of Tony's phobia.

The SHIELD agent plucked the miniature out of Bruce's hands and carried it over to the billionaire.

"You should see Steve's other paintings, Tony. Check out this miniature." He held out the small painting.

Tony looked at it sharply, then regarded Clint for a short but contemplative moment, before he accepted the miniature. Clint grinned back at Natasha in triumph. Tony followed his gaze, sending the Russian woman a sardonic smile of his own. It told her that Tony hadn't thought twice about accepting something from Cap, but Clint's offer had made Tony aware of his paranoia again. The billionaire deliberately took the picture from Clint to show his trust in the archer and in the Avengers as a whole; but the look he gave Natasha said she was not included. The Black Widow understood. As Natalie Rushman, she had betrayed Tony's trust once. She would have to work to regain his regard — if she cared to. She returned Tony's sardonic smile and tipped her glass in a tiny salute.

Tony's grin grew wider. Maybe they didn't trust each other, but they did understand each other.

The Avengers leader saw the exchange and didn't exactly understand it, but he let it go for now. He didn't want to spoil his own celebration.

"Is there anything you'd like, Bruce?" Steve asked, because Bruce had been the first to see "Steve" and not just "Cap."

"I don't know. What's your next assignment? Maybe I can provide some inspiration," Bruce answered.

"Since I already did a cityscape, Mrs. Martin wants me to do a real landscape with bushes and trees."

"A big green canvas. Perfect for you, Brucie," Tony quipped.

Bruce threw his magazine at Tony, who sacrificed his shoulder to protect the portrait.

"Watch the masterpiece!" the billionaire protested.

Steve beamed in happiness, no caffeine required.


	9. Veterans

**I meant an equally short but more angsty chapter this time, but because we're still close to Veterans Day, this one seemed appropriate.**

**Veterans**

Though they all crashed there at times, the Avengers didn't live at Avengers Tower. Tony Stark did, but it was his tower. And even he often migrated to his Malibu home and other properties.

Captain America in particular needed a place where he could just be Steve Rogers, a guy from Brooklyn. He said he couldn't learn to adapt to the 21st century if he stayed in Stark's luxurious cocoon.

Black Widow also needed a place of her own. Under a different name, purchased with untraceable cash, Natasha Romanoff owned a surprisingly cozy Queen Anne Cottage in upstate New York. Even SHIELD didn't have the address, even Stark hadn't found it yet, only Fury and one other knew. The manicured grounds included a small guesthouse where a certain hawk often perched.

Clint Barton had been content with spartan SHIELD quarters for half of his life. Not so much since he'd been compromised by Loki. SHIELD shrinks and Fury had cleared him and there were enough other cases of brain washing and possession in the SHIELD files that the other agents could accept him on a mission, but no one wanted to live with him, and he felt the same discomfort. He bunked in Avengers Tower more often than any of the others.

Bruce Banner and Thor came and went on their own business, but stayed at the tower when they were in town.

All the Avengers had rooms there. Well, they all had suites there, complete with kitchens and mini-gyms. But when they were in residence, they tended to migrate to the common rooms — the Assembly Room, the extensive workout rooms complete with firing ranges, and the communal kitchen. When they were together, they liked to be together, getting to know each other and bonding as a team.

Boneless with weariness after a day chasing monsters dredged from the deeps by Superstorm Sandy, the Avengers minus Thor tried to relax with a film fest, but ended up talking about why they were talking.

"Because no one else really understands. You had to be there to understand," Steve said earnestly.

The others nodded and then Tony barked a sardonic laugh. "It's like the VFW for superheroes!"

And everyone laughed, because even Steve got that reference.

"The VSW," Clint chortled. "Veterans of Superhero Wars."


	10. Fifth of July

_Author's note: Despite the title, this is a Thanksgiving story. You'll see.  
_

**The Fifth of July**

It was well after 1 a.m. on July 5 when a weary Captain America climbed out of the SHIELD quinjet on the helipad of Avengers Tower.

There were only a few secure facilities in New York City where Captain America could walk in and Steve Rogers could walk out. Avengers Tower — where S. Rogers was on the payroll as a security consultant — wasn't the most convenient to Steve's Brooklyn home, but it was where he felt most comfortable.

But now — having been on the move since 4 a.m. July 4 — he was beginning to wish he'd just bunked down on the helicarrier. Keep going, he told himself. You'll be in your own bed soon.

The elevator door opened automatically as Cap approached. "Welcome back, Captain Rogers," said the voice of Tony Stark's AI.

"Thank you, Jarvis," Cap said.

Inside the elevator, finally out of public view, Captain America pulled off his cowl/helmet and became Steve Rogers again. He leaned against the side of the elevator, an uncharacteristic posture for the Super Soldier. It seemed really late to Steve who still tended to follow a lights out at 10, reveille at dawn schedule.

SHIELD had sent Captain America on a cross-country jaunt for Independence Day. Steve was feeling resentful — and ashamed of feeling that way — that he had been pushed so hard on his birthday.

Yes, Captain America was born on the Fourth of July. Even Steve had considered it ironic after he'd been assigned the red, white and blue uniform. Steve was pretty sure the Avengers didn't know his birthday, since he hadn't been teased unmercifully by Tony; but he was equally certain that SHIELD Director Nick Fury knew because, one, he was Nick Fury, and, two, Agent Phil Coulson — a Captain America fan since childhood — would have made sure the information as in SHIELD's files.

Steve was peeved that he had been worked like a plow horse for the whole of a national holiday that was also his birthday. He was tired and hungry and just wanted to go home.

When the elevator door opened, Steve heaved himself out of the elevator, dragging himself toward the lounge that Clint Barton had taken to calling the Assembly Room.

He hesitated when he heard the murmur of a man and woman's voices from the room. Steve didn't want to walk in on a pair of lovers, but his kit bag was in there.

"It's OK, Steve," Pepper Potts called. "Jarvis warned us you were on your way down. You can come in."

"Yeah, Spangles, we're decent," Tony Stark, added, finishing with a grunt that was probably Pepper elbowing him in the ribs.

Steve entered and stopped cold. His friends were not merely decent; they were fully dressed. Tony wore black jeans and his typical rock and roll T-shirt. In deference to the holiday, this shirt read "Born in the U.S.A." But Pepper! At nearly 2 a.m., Pepper was dressed for work in a neat A-line skirt and a crisp cream blouse that was getting slightly wrinkled where Tony was nuzzling her neck. A contrasting blazer was neatly folded over the back of the couch and spike heels stood side-by-side on the floor, awaiting her nylon-covered feet.

The couple stared, equally confounded by the disheveled appearance of the spit-and-polish soldier. The upright military man leaned against the doorframe as if he needed the support. His cowl was held laxly in one hand and his left arm sagged until his shield rested on his booted toe. His usually neat blond hair was dark with sweat and mussed in a terminal case of cowl hair. His cheeks looked gaunt in the dim light and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"Steve!" Pepper exclaimed in concern.

"How come you're all dressed up?" Steve asked frowning. The question proved he was tired. He would never be so direct and nosy otherwise.

"I'm expecting conference call from our affiliate in Dubai," she answered. "They're just starting their business day there."

"Pepper terrifies them," Tony said proudly. "They call in the middle of our night and she looks like she doesn't need to sleep. But you, you look like you do need sleep. Jarvis said you acted tired, but you look absolutely whipped," he said frankly. "Sit down, man, before you fall down."

"I'm afraid if I stop moving, I'll never get going again," Steve confessed.

"You don't need to keep moving," Pepper said. "Stay here for the rest of the night — or morning," she urged.

"That room where you usually change is open," Tony said, confirming the invitation.

"Well …"

"C'mon, we decorated just for you," Tony said slyly, getting a stern look from Pepper.

Steve surrendered and dropped heavily into what was tacitly considered "Cap's chair." It was well cushioned, but had a tall, straight back that suited the soldier better than any of the other Avengers. Today he slumped in it as he admired the decorations. Red, white and blue crepe paper streamers draped from each wall with bunches of balloons tied in each corner. Fourth-of-July tablecloths – slightly stained – covered every flat surface.

"You have a party?" he asked wistfully. (The "without me" was unsaid but not unheard.)

"We were hoping you'd get back in time to join us," Pepper said.

"Yeah, your note didn't say how long you'd be gone," Tony said. "And about that, you don't have to list everything you eat. I'm not going to send you a bill," Tony added. "Even you can't eat me out of house and home. You can eat as much as you want."

"I know." And Steve did. Tony was generous with his food and drink and most of his toys. "But if I don't leave a note, how will you know what's missing?"

Tony shook his head in exasperation. "Jarvis keeps track," he said, as if Steve should have known. "Jarvis updates the food supply and orders whenever something gets low. How's the Poptart supply, J?" He called aloud.

"One case of chocolate fudge, half a case of frosted strawberry, half a case of Wildilicious Wild Berry. Replacements are already on order, sir," the computerized voice replied.

Tony spread his hands in a "see?" gesture.

"OK, I won't do it again," Steve agreed.

"So to go back to the original thought, we didn't expect you to be gone so long."

"Neither did I," Steve sighed. "Director Fury said several communities had asked for Captain America to officiate at their Fourth of July celebrations. He said they picked a couple and would I do it. Of course I said yes."

"Of course," Tony said wryly.

"You could have said, no," Pepper scolded mildly.

"I'm a soldier, ma'am," Steve answered without opening his eyes. "We're not allowed to say, no."

And that was just sad, Tony and Pepper thought, on the same wavelength for once. Pepper thought she needed to boost Steve's independence, break a little of that army conditioning, while Tony wondered if Steve really was still in the army. Surely no enlistment lasted 70 years. Had Fury coerced Steve into signing up again while the man was still bewildered by his time-displacement. Tony would have a few, very loud words to say, if that was true.

But in the meantime he only said, "So, where have you been?"

"Bakersfield."

"Bakersfield," Tony frowned in thought, trying to place Bakersfield on the East Coast. "The only Bakersfield I know is in California," he admitted.

"That's the one," Steve answered, still with his eyes closed.

"California!" Pepper's voice was an unexecutive-like shriek of outrage. That made Steve's heavy eyes fly open. "They took you all the way to California and back in one day?"

"Mmm," Steve agreed warily. "That was our last stop."

"How many stops did you make?" Tony asked.

"Eight. We started with a pancake breakfast in Piscataway, New Jersey. Then I was parade grand marshal in Erie, Pennsylvania. I presented awards at a barbecue rib competition in Louisville, Kentucky, and visited a children's hospital in Mt. Vernon, Illinois, and served as grand marshal in an afternoon parade in Davenport, Iowa. Then I visited a veterans' hospital in St. Edward, Nebraska, and gave out awards for the Red, White and Blueberry Pie Eating Contest in Pahrump, Nevada, and then was master of ceremonies for the pre-fireworks concert in Bakersfield."

"How is that even possible?" Pepper asked. "You had to spend at least an hour in each place and then there was flight time."

"The time change was in his favor," Tony pointed out. "He gained three hours going west."

"But even so?'

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. Everything was timed. All the event people knew my time was limited and they were really helpful. They were all so happy to have Captain America for Fourth of July, even for a little while. They understood that they needed to share. SHIELD agents hustled me in and out at every stop and they crammed me into the backseat of a little jet — I could tell by the pressure, it went really fast."

"Ah," Tony said. "Did it press you back in your seat when it accelerated? Did you feel like you were going to black out?"

"Yes, it pressed me back like … like the Hulk was sitting on my chest," Steve said. "But, no, I didn't feel like I was going to black out."

"Well, you are Captain America, I suppose," Tony said thoughtfully.

"You suppose?"

Tony's quirky grin flashed. "You are Captain America. And you were in a secret, supersonic SHIELD aircraft that I may or may not have learned a teensy bit about when browsing through SHIELD files."

"Supersonic flight isn't strictly legal inside the U.S., is it?" Pepper asked.

"Not strictly, no. Certainly not near population centers. But we are talking SHIELD here. Assassins, super weapons and invisible flying aircraft carriers can't be strictly legal, either."

"Not to mention nuking New York," Steve said.

"Not to mention," Tony agreed.

"I can see why you're so tired, then, Steve," Pepper said sympathetically. "Did you have any fun?"

"A little. Met some awfully nice people and the kids were so excited. Every time I started to get fed up, I thought about the kids and kept going." A look Pepper couldn't decipher crossed Steve's face.

"What pissed you off, big guy?" Tony asked. "I've seen that disapproving look often enough."

"The Louisville Rib Princess threw herself on my lap for a photo and then she … wiggled," Steve said flatly.

Tony guffawed.

"It's not funny, Tony," Steve reproved his friend. "It was very …"

"Stimulating?" Tony teased.

"I was going to say, unladylike," Steve answered primly.

"What did you do? Dump her on the ground?" Tony asked.

"Of course he didn't, Tony. That would have been ungentlemanly." Pepper came to Steve's defense. "What did you do?"

"I picked her up and put her on my shoulder for the photographers. She was happy enough. She'll probably make front page in the papers," Steve said with an unusual sourness. Then he firmly changed the subject. "What did you guys do at the party?"

"We just had a little indoor picnic with the gang. All the traditional food — fried chicken, potato salad, watermelon, corn on the cob."

Pepper started to giggle as soon as Tony said "corn" and he was grinning broadly by the time he got to "cob."

"What'd I miss?"

"Thor ..." Pepper's explanation dissolved into more giggles. "We introduced him to corn on the cob ..." She started again but couldn't continue.

"He ate the whole thing, like a carrot!" Tony finished, laughing.

"You mean he just ..." Steve mimed taking a big bite. The others nodded, their eyes watering with mirth.

"Before we could stop him, he chewed it up in three bites."

"And he liked it," Pepper gasped around her giggles. "He ate five, even after we showed him the right way to eat it."

"He tried biting off the kernels and agreed they were sweet and flavorful, but he said the cob gave them body," Tony remembered.

"He said they were very filling," Pepper added.

"You think he really liked them?" Steve asked skeptically.

"Well, he asked Jane if he could have her cob whens she finished the corn, so I guess he did," Pepper answered.

"That's a godlike digestion for you," Steve said.

"So, have you tried corn cobs," Tony teased, because the Super Soldier could eat almost as much as the Asgardian.

Steve's stomach growled audibly, making Tony howl.

"Right now, anything sounds good to me," Steve answered wearily.

"When's the last time you ate?" Pepper asked sympathetically, because she knew Cap's altered metabolism needed a lot of fuel.

"My last real meal was breakfast," Steve answered, closing his eyes and leaning his head back wearily. "Though I did have a half a plain bologna sandwich and half an apple for lunch." His voice quivered oddly when he said that. "Apart from that, I've only had snacks. A couple handfuls of popcorn, a cookie, one sample rib at the barbecue competition."

His friends were looking at him wide-eyed because, one, that wasn't enough to keep a bug alive, let alone Captain America, and, two, sweet-tempered Cap sounded darn resentful about it. Steve realized it and gave the others a rueful smile.

"Sorry, Captain America shouldn't whine."

"I don't call it whining. It's a legitimate complaint," Pepper said forcefully.

"You mean the last meal you had was that breakfast you left me the note about at four o'clock this, I mean, yesterday morning?" Tony was outraged.

"Pretty much."

"But didn't you say something about a pancake breakfast?" Tony asked.

"I was flipping pancakes and serving them and posing for pictures. And smelling bacon and coffee the whole time. But when my time was up, my handlers rushed me off. They'd been stuffing themselves on pancakes the whole time I was working, but they didn't save any for me." Steve definitely sounded resentful. "I made sure they paid for their breakfasts, though," he said vindictively. "The organizers were willing to comp them because they brought me, but I insisted we couldn't do that because the event was for charity."

"I can see you can't eat when you're a parade grand marshal," Pepper said. "But what about the rib competition?

"It was mostly over when I got there, I just handed out the prizes. I did snatch a couple of leftover samples from the judges' table. The smell of 30 groups barbecuing ribs was driving me crazy!"

"You did get a little lunch, you said? Half a bologna sandwich?"

This time Steve's smile was genuine, but a little sad. "At lunchtime I was in the pediatric cancer ward of a children's hospital, the bravest little kids I've ever seen. I was in the hospital a lot when I was a kid," he reminded his friends. "I remember being lonely and scared in a crowded, ugly room. Hospitals have changed for the better in that way. These rooms were bright and had colorful murals on the walls. The kids were obviously sick, but they seemed cheerful. I talked to them about how I was sick a lot when I was a kid but doctors found a new medicine to try on me and I got big and strong, so they should never give up hope, because miracles do happen."

"There probably won't be a Dr. Erskine for them, Steve," Tony said gently.

"Maybe not, but children who would have been dead in my day are alive in this day. And I believe in miracles. Don't you, Tony?" Steve answered, looking pointedly at the faint glow of the arc reactor beneath Tony's shirt.

"Where did the sandwich come in?" Pepper asked, to take their minds off this possibly painful topic.

Steve's eyes softened. "One little girl had finished a round of chemotherapy that day. She was too weak to come to the playroom, but I visited her in her room. She's nine years old and looks six because the cancer chemicals have stunted her growth, but she's smart and she likes to draw, so we had something in common. They brought her lunch while we were talking, a plain bologna sandwich with no butter or mayonnaise on it and slices of apple — the only things she can keep down after chemo. I was so hungry my stomach growled just like it did a minute ago. I apologized, but Melodie offered to share. She said she can't eat more than half her sandwich on chemo days, but it's worth it because the tumor is shrinking and she'll be able to go home in two weeks. She insisted that I take half her lunch and when the nurse gestured at me to go ahead, I did. I ate half the sandwich and half the apple slices, carefully divided by Melodie, and she ate all of the other half while we talked about drawing and I showed her some sketches of New York. I felt guilty about taking the food, but the nurse said on our way out that Melodie ate more while talking to me than she usually does on chemo days."

"That's because you're such a charmer," Pepper said, making Steve duck his head modestly.

"And that's all you had. No dinner?" Tony asked.

"That was my own fault. I was supposed to eat after the veterans' hospital — it was scheduled in and everything," Steve said sarcastically, then his voice brightened. "But I met someone I knew."

"But that always happens, right? Some vet who said he knew you in the war?" Tony said.

Steve agreed. "But this one called me Captain Rogers, instead of Captain America, and I remembered him. He was in our motor pool, kept my bike running. We talked about old friends and I lost track of time, lost my chance at dinner, too. And then I had to judge a pie-eating contest! I was so jealous of the contestants! I asked if the blueberry pie was any good and they gave me a sliver to taste, then I was really jealous because it was good."

"And then you got to California," Pepper said.

"I introduced the songs, said a few words about patriotism and children's hospitals and veterans hospitals and then announced the fireworks. I didn't even stay for the fireworks show. I was so tired I wasn't even hungry any more. I just wanted to go home. But I didn't make it. I only got this far."

OK, now Tony and Pepper were getting worried. Steve sounded so fatalistic. Maybe those hollows in his cheeks weren't caused by a trick of the light.

"I think you need some food," Pepper said firmly, rising briskly to her feet. "I'll fix you something. We have plenty of leftovers — despite Thor."

Steve struggled to sit up. Pepper was an important person. She didn't need to bring him food like a secretary. "But what about your meeting?"

"They'll wait." She paused beside his chair and patted his head. "It's OK, Steve. That's what friends are for." She planted a kiss on his forehead.

"Hey!" Tony called. "Kissing a handsome blond right in front of me. I'm jealous."

"No, you're not," Pepper said, as she headed for the door.

"No, I'm not," Tony agreed. "Why aren't I?" he asked curiously.

"Because he's Steve," she answered, as she disappeared into the kitchen.

Steve blinked. "Should I be offended by that?"

"Only if you're offended that we both know you're too honorable to steal a friend's girl."

"Oh. OK then."

"And that Pepper thinks of you as an oversized little brother who needs to be taken care of and protected from bullies."

"Bullies like you?"

"Definitely!" came a shout from the kitchen.

Steve smiled and sank lower in the chair. "I think I can live with that. It's been an awfully long time — even from my perspective — since I had someone to look after me."

He closed his eyes, but Tony was a little worried that he wasn't falling asleep but was passing out from hunger.

"Hey! Don't go to sleep until we get you some food."

Steve blinked at Tony's worried face, then understood. "It's OK, Tony. I'm not dying. I can go longer than this without eating. Honest."

"That's a relief. I remember what you said after the Chitauri battle."

"That was when I was wounded. I did need to eat then. If I'm not really active …" Steve's mouth twisted in a wry grin. "… I guess I can go 70 years without eating."

Tony frowned. "Never thought about that. With your rapid metabolism, how'd you survive? How'd you heal? Hmm, the cold must have sent you into suspended animation," he speculated. "But how? And why?"

Steve frowned sternly. "No experimenting to find out," he said in his best commander's voice.

"No, of course not." Tony said with guilty haste. "I wonder … I bet there was some leftover energy from the Tesseract interacting with the Vita Rays." Steve's frown became a scowl. "OK, changing subject," Tony caroled. "Any other negatives from the serum?"

Steve thought, then grinned. "Super sweat," he answered. "I perspire like a waterfall and, well, I really need a shower right now. You're just lucky the uniform keeps most of it in."

Tony hadn't been expecting that, but … "That totally makes sense, though. Super muscles need super cooling."

"It also means you need to drink all of this," Pepper ordered, as she came in carrying a tray loaded with food and two quart pitchers of liquid. Steve leaped to his feet to take the heavy tray from her.

A plate was piled high with two fried chicken legs and three sandwiches made with thick cuts of ham, cheese, and tomato slathered with mustard just the way Steve liked it. Two hefty slices of watermelon and a third of an apple pie cut in half completed the meal. One pitcher contained water and the other milk.

When Steve set down the tray, Pepper poured a full glass of water and waited while Steve drank it down, then she refilled it with milk. "Now you eat. I've got to make a phone call." She gave Steve a chaste peck on the cheek and Tony a more promising kiss on the lips, then she went to her office to terrify the staff in Dubai.

Steve ate the first sandwich in greedy gulps, but then settled to his usual polite, neat, well-chewed bites. But because the super muscles included his jaw muscles, he could chew really fast when he was hungry.

Tony kept his guest company, sipping a cocktail.

"Are you getting up or going to bed?" Steve asked, because with Tony you couldn't tell.

"Pep and I went to bed just after the fireworks — to sleep!" Tony said in mock aggravation. "She's such a workaholic," added the world's worst workaholic.

Steve laughed at him and in a moment Tony joined in.

"I'm just waiting for her," Tony said. "Then we'll go back to bed. We don't always coincide. I want to make the most of it."

Steve nodded. He finished his last bite of pie and started to lift the tray to carry it to the kitchen.

"I'll get that," Tony promised. "You've done enough today ... yesterday. Get some sleep, you earned it."

Steve yawned and stretched. "I think I'll sleep in."

"Till what? 7:30?" Tony mocked his early rising friend.

"Maybe even eight," Steve answered. He retrieved his bag from behind the chair and went to the guest room.

* * *

As soon as Steve was out of earshot, Tony dialed a number he wasn't supposed to know.

"Stark! Do you know what time it is?" Director Fury roared into his personal cellphone.

"Do you know that Cap just got home half dead after being dragged clear across the country for some SHIELD dog and pony show?" Tony retorted.

There was silence, then, "Damn."

"Who arranged this forced march? Cap got some enemy in the SHIELD PR department?"

"No, worse, he's got a fan. Thinks Cap can do anything," Fury said wearily. "I'll talk to him," he promised. "It won't happen again."

"Better not. SHIELD's supposed to be on Cap's side!" Tony snapped and switched off his phone, wishing he'd used an old-fashioned landline so he could slam down the receiver. He immediately began planning a sound effect app that would do just that for the next version of the Starkphone.

* * *

Despite the late night (early morning?) Steve woke up at 7:30. He was still tired, but felt better after a shower. But when he stepped out of the shower, his clothes were gone — his filthy uniform, his civilian clothes and the sweats he'd worn to bed. In their place was a new blue shirt — the kind he'd heard called a polo shirt — and a pair of navy pants with many pockets, plus a package of underwear. It was all in his size. It was very thoughtful, but a little disturbing. He'd have been even more disturbed if he'd realized that the shirt was the exact same shade of blue as his eyes.

Despite the noise of the shower, the Super Soldier's hearing would have detected most intruders. He hoped the deliverer of clean clothes had been Clint and not Natasha.

Steve donned the gift hurriedly, because now he could smell pancakes, bacon and coffee. (Jarvis deliberately wafted the enticing scents through the ventilation system.)

Steve headed for the kitchen, but froze mid-step when he entered the Assembly Room.

All the Avengers stood there, along with Pepper and Jane Foster. A banner reading "Happy Birthday, Steve" had joined the patriotic décor.

Wearing a floppy chef's toque, Clint Barton held out a plate piled high with pancakes. The stack had birthday candles flaming on top.

"Surprise!" his friends shouted. "Happy birthday!"

"A day late, but the guest of honor didn't show yesterday," Tony said.

They hustled Steve to the table to blow out the candles and share out the pancakes before they got cold. After everyone was full — even Thor — Steve opened presents, mostly clothes, because his friends wanted to bring him up to style. Bruce gave him a Dictionary of Cultural Literacy. "So you can understand half of what Tony says."

"But it's a book," Tony complained. "How up-to-date could it be?" He gave Steve a Stark-tablet loaded with the top 100 movies of the last 100 years (as selected by Tony Stark, of course).

"And we have a real cake for you for later," Clint said. "So, what did you wish for?" he asked, nodding at the birthday candles.

"Yesterday, in the veteran's hospital I met someone I knew during the war. Sometimes I feel guilty about being alive when everyone I knew a year ago is dead; but Monty said they'd grieved that I died so young and he was happy I had a second chance. He told me the world was very different from when we were young, but there were still a lot of good people in it." Steve grinned at his friends. "And he was right."

Clint scratched his head. "Did that answer my question?" he asked Tony.

"I have food to eat and a roof over my head. I have an important job to do and friends to watch out for me. In that moment when I blew out the candles, I couldn't think of anything to wish for, Clint," Steve said. "So I just said, thank you.'"

* * *

_A/N: So it is a thanksgiving story, after all. And thank you for reading (and reviewing?)_

_And don't forget to vote for Avengers in the People's Choice Awards. You can vote for the movie, the actors, the characters, even for Clintasha. It's darn hard to choose between Chris, Chris and Robert, however._


	11. Lonely

_Just a short, kind of sad chapter._

**Lonely**

Steve Rogers looked around the dining table and sighed, strictly internally. He didn't let any of his discomfort show. Usually his face was expressive, but he could lie if showing his true feelings would hurt his friends.

So the young man sat at the head of the small oblong table like a father figure and counted — boy-girl, boy-girl, boy-girl and Cap.

Usually Natasha Romanoff was the only female with the group and, in her wry aloof way, acted like one of the guys or their disgusted big sister, whichever seemed more appropriate. Pepper was often working and when she wasn't, she and Tony usually went out or retreated to more private quarters. When they were all together, she acted as big sister, surrogate mother, CEO of the Avengers Initiative.

But when Jane visited Thor, some sort of alchemy happened. Suddenly the Avengers was made up of couples, except for Steve. Usually he could count on Bruce for company and a no-holds-barred game of chess. But Bruce was off battling a cholera epidemic in South America and so the dinner party was made up of boy-girl, boy-girl, boy-girl and Cap.

Steve didn't blame Jane at all. She and Thor didn't get to spend much time together and she deserved the time she could steal. It wasn't her fault either that the Avengers seemed to become a girl's club when she visited. She would be mortified to think she made Steve uncomfortable. So would Pepper. (OK, Natasha would probably tell him to get over himself, Steve thought with a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.)

Really, no one ignored Steve. He was included in conversations, but he still felt like a third wheel (seventh wheel). It made him feel lonely — not angry, not resentful, just lonely. And really, he was used to lonely.

As soon as dinner was over, he excused himself, politely waving off their pleas for him to stay. He saw guilty looks in the eyes of Jane and Pepper and shook his head at them.

"No, really, it's all right," he said. "I need to be up early tomorrow."

Tony almost said, "You're always up early," but Steve gave him the captain look and Tony only said, "See you later, then." The host walked his guest to the door. "We need to get you a girlfriend," Tony said with honest concern instead of his usual snark.

"Not yet," Steve answered. "I'm not ready yet."

Steve walked through the streets in the brisk autumn evening. He was lonely, but that was nothing new to him. Loneliness was — what was that term Tony used about his robots — oh yeah, loneliness was Steve's default setting.

A sickly child, he'd never made a lot of friends and hadn't been able to run and play with the ones he did make. He'd been left out a lot, sitting on the curb and drawing while his friends played energetic games in the street.

Bucky had been a good friend, never wanting to leave Steve behind. He dragged Steve first to games and then to dances where the asthmatic had to sit on the sidelines. That made Steve feel just as lonely. Steve smiled remembering the times Bucky tried to find him a date; but face it, the kind of dame who liked big bluff Bucky Barnes was not the kind who'd like skinny wheezing Steve Rogers.

Then he volunteered for Dr. Erskine's experiment, which succeeded! But the general didn't want him. He became a performing monkey in the USO show, not an actor at all, just a freak, a lonely freak.

And then he became an officer and a hero, but those can be lonely jobs, too. Outside he was big strong Captain America, but inside he was still skinny wheezing Steve Rogers. He never had a date with the girl he really wanted, just one stolen kiss before he crashed to his lonely death in the arctic.

And he didn't even die. Instead he woke to the ultimate loneliness. Everyone he'd known was dead. It as was if he was the sole survivor of a terrible disaster. He felt guilt at being alive and grief at the loss and at the time he'd wasted.

It was Peggy that was hardest to let go. He'd squandered all their possibilities. He'd made a promise he hadn't kept. It ate at him.

The SHIELD psychiatrist assured him that his feelings were normal. Everyone passes through the stages of grief at his own pace and it wasn't even a year since he awoke in this new world to learn all his friends were dead. Steve was working his way through his anger and depression (via punching bags). He would come to acceptance eventually, then he could move on.

Tony was right. Steve ought to find a girl, but he wasn't ready yet.

Steve was lonely, but he was used to that.


	12. Flying Disks

_A/N: If I remember right, someone asked for a little Clint/Tony angst and this is what came into my head instead. Sorry about that. At least it has Clint._

* * *

**Flying Disks**

"Barton, what are you getting me into?" Steve Rogers laughed when he looked at the crowd in the park.

* * *

It started with a friendly target shooting competition between Hawkeye and Captain America in the firing range in Avengers Tower. Two targets would be released simultaneously. The heroes were allowed just one glance as the targets started to move, then had to hit them without looking again.

Cap felt he had an advantage, because his shield was much bigger than an arrow, so he further handicapped himself. His shield had to hit in a designated space just at the shoulders and it had to come back to him. He could only take one step in any direction to catch it.

It hardly mattered, because every shot Hawkeye made hit in the center of the "forehead" of the man-shaped target – right between the eyes, if the thing had had eyes. The two Avengers matched each other shot for shot, until Clint reached back and his fingers closed on nothing. He took a step back off the target trigger.

"Oops, I'm out," he said.

"Does that mean I win?" Cap teased, swinging the shield on his arm. "I'm still armed."

Clint smiled wickedly. "Well, I do have a couple of explosive arrows left."

Cap raised his hands in immediate surrender. "OK, I give. You win," he said. "Bruce said he and Tony and working on some delicate chemical experiments today. Any disturbances will make him angry."

"And we don't want Bruce angry," Clint chorused along with his friend. "So, no explosions unless they come from the lab?"

"Correct." Cap pushed back his cowl and looked around the substantial space in dissatisfaction. "Guess I'll go for a run," he decided, but that wasn't what he wanted to do, Clint deduced. The archer asked what the problem was.

"I'd like to get in some work chasing and retrieving my shield," Steve said. "It doesn't always come back to my hand."

He explained that sometimes he didn't want it to come back, because the angle would put someone else in danger.

"And sometimes I misread the surfaces and it doesn't ricochet the way I expect or, worse, it sticks in the wall or in the target," he said.

Clint considered the problem. "SHIELD has a training facility upstate," he said. "We can run around there as much as we want." He made a call, then reported back to Steve. "It's being used this week to train rookie agents, but I reserved it for the Avengers for next week."

"Thanks." But Clint could tell Steve was still disappointed.

"You know, we could just go to the park," the archer suggested.

Steve laughed. "People mob me every time I go out in uniform. I don't think we'd get much training done."

"I think you could get them to back off. They'd sell tickets to watch you practice," Clint joked. "But actually, I was thinking about using a substitute."

"A substitute?"

Clint's eyes twinkled. "Meet me downstairs in half an hour. Wear your workout gear."

When they met up again, the archer was carrying a stack of plastic disks. "They're called Frisbees," the archer explained. "Nat and I use them for target practice sometimes. They don't weigh as much as your shield, but they fly a lot like it does. I know just the place where I can throw them and you can chase them."

They walked a couple of blocks to a park that had a wide open area popular for Frisbee throwing.

* * *

"Barton, what are you getting me into?" Steve Rogers laughed when he looked at the crowd in the park.

A man was playing with his small daughter, who mostly toddled after the fallen disks. Two teenage boys were tossing one back and forth, showing off for two teenage girls. But the rest of the dozen Frisbee chasers had four legs and caught the flying disks with their teeth.

"Fetch, Steve," Clint said with a grin and sent a disk soaring.

Steve laughed and ran, leaping high in the air to catch the disk, just as it started to curve away. With a quick snap of his powerful wrist, the archer sent another Frisbee whizzing at high speed and low altitude. Steve cut left to pluck it from the air a mere inch from the ground. Steve spun instantly, anticipating the next one — make that the next trio, sent one, two, three in quick succession. Steve darted, jumped and rolled to grab each one. Then he dropped the batch, because the next disk was already spinning, curving well to his right toward a watching canine. As the disk swooped close, the young border collie broke training and ran after a disk his master hadn't thrown. He ran straight into Steve's path. Both were focused on the Frisbee, but the soldier had better situational awareness than the pup. Steve didn't need the warning shouts to see the obstacle in his way, as the dog, hearing his master shout, crouched in confusion. Steve jumped over the dog, tucked into a somersault and popped up to snag the Frisbee.

The watching Frisbee dog owners applauded. The collie's master ran over.

"I'm really sorry," he said. "You're not hurt?"

Steve waved away the concern. "No, not a problem. You didn't know any better, did you? You're just a baby, aren't you fella?" he said to the dog, who wagged his tail and licked Steve's extended hand in apology.

The dog owner introduced himself as Benny and the dog as Cappie.

"Cap, really?" Clint asked, coming up after collecting his Frisbees. He tilted his head at the red, white and blue bandana around the pup's neck.

"Yeah, he's named after Captain America," Benny said proudly.

"Cap's a great name for a dog," Clint said earnestly. Steve knew he was never going to hear the end of this.

"You guys are pretty good with the Frisbees," Benny said.

Clint put on a sad face. "I recently lost my dog," he lied easily. "I wanted to keep in practice and my friend said he'd fetch for me."

"I like the exercise," Steve said, giving Clint a warning look to not go too far.

"That's nice," the owner of an Australian shepherd said. He rubbed his dog's head fondly. "It's not the same as having a dog, but it's almost as good."

Clint took that as a challenge. His, "Almost?" was the only warning Steve got, before a disk went speeding past him.

Steve jumped over Cappie (again!) and shot after the disk, easily catching up to its rapid flight. He spun to face his partner and found three disks fanning out toward him with three more in a following wave.

"Clint!" he protested. Steve ran hard to cut off the flight and snatched the first trio from the air — one, two, three — flinging each back at Clint with emphasis before snagging the next. He ricocheted the first two off nearby trees, so the three converged on the archer at the same time. Clint had to drop his remaining two Frisbees to catch the incoming plastic missiles before they smacked him in the face.

By that time, the other three disks were almost past Steve soaring above his head. He leaped high and caught one in each hand, but the third was too high. He flipped one of the Frisbees at the third. The colliding disks tipped and fell straight down. Steve caught one in his free hand and, with a dive and a roll, caught the final one in his mouth. He bounced to his feet, swept the plastic disk from his mouth in a theatrical bow; then he sent the three Frisbees winging back to Clint while he followed at a lope.

Clint fielded the three easily, without dropping the three he already held.

"Let's see your dog do that," he said in satisfaction. While their audience was exclaiming over the show, he added in a whisper to Steve, "Better not try that mouth catch with your shield."

"No, it's a little too heavy for that," Steve agreed quietly.

"Wait a minute! You aren't a dog trainer," Cappie's owner accused in good humor. "You're with a circus or something."

He was more perceptive than he knew, thought the Amazing Hawkeye, the former circus sharpshooter. It occurred to Clint ant both he and Cap had spent time on stage. Once performing gets into your blood, there's always a little piece of you that craves applause.

"You've found us out," Clint admitted with an exaggerated sigh. "We're trying out for Ringling Bros. next week."

"You're good," a woman spectator said. "Would you do another trick?"

"Please?" her bouncing daughter pleaded.

"One more." Clint whispered for a moment to Steve, who nodded.

"This is a standard dog Frisbee trick, done acrobat style," Clint announced. He gave three disks to Steve who crouched as Clint took up a position behind him.

The watchers murmured. They were used to seeing dogs using their owners backs as launching pads for tricks, but the sturdy archer was heavier than any dog they'd seen perform this.

Steve tossed three Frisbees up. Clint ran up his back and leaped from shoulders that held as steady as a statue.

The audience sighed in disappointment when the reaching fingers missed the first disk, but the hand closed on the second before Clint somersaulted in the air, caught the third disk and landed on his feet. He pointed upward, and the "missed" first disk settled gently down, rotating around his forefinger.

As the crowd applauded, Clint juggled the three disks, adding a fourth, fifth, sixth, as Cap tossed them to him until he was juggling eight of their nine disks. Clint finished by taking each disk from the spinning circle and stacking them on his head, until he had a tall, plastic hat. He bowed, spilling the Frisbees into his arms.

Steve sent the last of their nine disks winging into the air. Clutching the others under his right arm, Clint ran toward his friend, caught the last disk and leaped into Steve's waiting arms. The audience laughed at the traditional canine ending, acrobat style.

Steve flipped Clint around, so the archer ended up sitting on his shoulders. The two bowed, waved and left, with Clint still riding high. Their audience yelled good wishes after them.

"Ever miss the applause?" the former circus sharpshooter and acrobat asked the former stage performer and War Bonds promoter.

"Sometimes," Steve admitted. "Especially the excited little kids." He stuck out a brawny arm so Clint could swing down. "But I think I'll stick to my day job," Steve continued. "And let's not tell Tony, or he'll be after me to catch my shield with my teeth."

Clint laughed. After a moment, he looked slyly at his fellow Avenger. "You know. We could do this again sometime. Just for the exercise," he added piously.

"Maybe."

The heroes exchanged boyish, mischievous grins and jogged back to the tower.


	13. Invitation

_A/N: This story took a left turn and decided it could be a Christmas-related story, so then Clint had to put his two-cents in for a little speed bump and then Tony opened his mouth and, well, the whole thing swerved wildly at the end. ConcertiGrossi's wonderfully written story "Second Fiddles" inspired the financial part of this story._

* * *

**Invitation**

Clint Barton turned the envelope over and over in his hands, studying the high-class paper and his name written in fine swirls. "It's obviously an invitation."

Natasha Romanoff rolled her eyes. "Obviously. Why don't you open it?"

"I'm waiting for everyone to get here. Why don't you open yours?"

Natasha shrugged. "It's just some Stark thing."

"No, not a Stark thing," Bruce Banner said as he entered, followed by Tony Stark and Thor. All three men carried envelopes. "Tony got one, too."

"Huh! Who else do we know that would send all of us engraved invitations?" Clint wondered.

Tony held the envelope up and gazed along the flat surface with the eye of a connoisseur. "Not engraved, Featherhead," he said. "Not printed at all. This is handwritten calligraphy and I only know one person old-fashioned enough to write invitations by hand."

"Cap!" Clint exclaimed.

Natasha immediately began opening her envelope.

Tony looked offended. "Now that you know it's not from me, you're in a hurry?"

"I know what your parties are like, Stark. I don't know what Steve's are like."

By that time they all had their invitations open.

"That is a nice restaurant," Natasha commented, impressed.

"Pricey," Clint said with a whistle.

"Classy and old," Tony said. "It's been there since, well, since Cap was a kid. Nice choice."

"Does this inn have good food?" Thor asked.

"I've never been there," Clint confessed. They all looked at Tony.

"Good food," he assured them. "And huge portions. It's a classic steakhouse, lots of meat."

"Excellent!" Thor said.

Bruce worried about how Steve could afford this (how he could afford to feed Thor alone) on what SHIELD paid him, but was glad he hadn't voiced that aloud when he heard, "I hope you can all come."

Steve Rogers stood in the doorway. Nick Fury was right behind him, not carrying an envelope but not looking put out about it. In fact, he was smiling.

"What brought this on?" Tony demanded.

"He got paid," Fury answered for Steve.

"Paid?" Clint and Bruce looked blank. Natasha showed nothing. But Tony got it right away.

He broke into a big grin. "They did it? They forked it over?"

Steve smiled back. "I'm not sure I deserve it, but…"

Tony waved that away. "'Deserved' doesn't come into it. They owed you." He looked at the ceiling. "Good job, Agent."

"I don't understand," Clint admitted.

"The Army came through with Cap's back pay," Tony said, still grinning.

"What, 67 years of back pay?" Clint exclaimed in delight.

"Plus interest!" Tony crowed.

"How do you know this, Stark?" Natasha asked.

"I didn't want Cap to be forced to march to Fury's fife," Tony said, paying no attention to Fury sitting right beside him. "If Steve wants to work for SHIELD, fine, but he shouldn't be forced to because he's destitute. But when I looked into it, I found Phil had already beaten me to it. He sicced the SHIELD lawyers on the U.S. government."

"And I just got the money," Steve said, looking a little shell-shocked.

"And so you invited us to celebrate your good fortune!" Thor said. "Congratulations, my friend."

"Sixty-seven years of a captain's salary, adjusted for inflation," Clint calculated. "Not bad."

Steve shuffled his feet sheepishly and Clint caught it.

"Not a captain's pay?" said the archer, who had experience in the military himself. "Wait, were you actually a captain? Or was that just a stage name? You went through Basic as an enlisted man, right?"

"Right, but I was a captain from the moment the serum worked. That's why Senator Brandt picked the name Captain America. It was in the contract I signed. It was part of Dr. Erskine's plan to protect his Super Soldier. The first volunteer was given the rank of captain, full pay of a captain for at least a year and lifetime medical care."

"In case everything went wrong," Bruce said soberly. He knew all about everything going wrong.

"Dr. Erskine knew he wouldn't be able to handpick everyone chosen for the program, but he could handpick their commanding officer," Steve said.

The others nodded.

"But, as it turned out, you were the only Super Soldier," Natasha said.

"It was one of the reasons Col. Phillips was so angry. He expected a platoon of Super Soldiers and instead got one jumped up, untrained officer," Steve said.

"But you proved yourself once you got the chance," Natasha said with satisfaction.

"So, what was the hesitation about the captain's pay?" Clint asked, reverting to his original question.

"Um."

Fury put him out of his misery and said what Steve was too modest to say. "He got a posthumous promotion — for his heroism."

"Aren't those usually for the benefit of the soldier's widow and orphans?" Tony asked skeptically. "To boost their pension now that the breadwinner is dead?"

"Maybe," Fury said. "According to the records, Senator Brandt pushed for it. It made him look good and made everyone feel better."

"And it didn't actually cost the government anything, because Cap was dead and he didn't have any survivors to collect his death benefits," Tony said cynically.

"Possibly," Fury grinned. "But they underestimated Cap again and he came back to collect — 67 years of a colonel's back pay."

Clint laughed and rubbed his hands in glee. "From private to colonel in, what, two years? That's impressive."

"And he only had to die to get it," Stark said dryly.

"But he did get it," Clint reminded his friend. "You totally deserve it, Steve."

"I don't," Steve contradicted. "But I'll take it, because I have plans for it."

Bruce had been studying the invitation again. "Guys, I think we've missed something. The invitation isn't for a party, it's for 'the after-party.'"

"After what?" Clint asked.

"I thought you might need a little relaxation after I put you to work for the day," Steve said.

Now Fury was outright grinning, his white teeth flashing against his dark skin.

"Go ahead, captain, this is your party," he said. He leaned back as if distancing himself from the occasion.

Steve stood at attention, a nervous habit familiar to them all.

"At ease, soldier," Bruce said quietly.

Steve relaxed and shot the doctor a grin. He explained that he had been approached through SHIELD's PR department about visiting a sick child in the hospital.

Tony frowned at Fury. "The PR department? Is this the same guy who sent Cap on that cross-country marathon on the Fourth?"

"Nothing like that," Fury promised, holding up his empty hands in a "peace" gesture.

"This is my idea, Tony," Steve interjected. "Have you heard of a group called Make-A-Wish?"

"They make wishes come true for sick children," Bruce explained to Thor.

"A worthy project," the thunder god praised. "And it would be most logical for a sick child to crave a meeting with Captain America."

Steve ducked his head in acknowledgement of the praise. "I met with Kevin. He's a very brave young man with cystic fibrosis. I thought it would be sad to meet him, and it was, but I had a great time with him. And he wanted to share me with all the other kids at the hospital. I …" He couldn't find the words to explain.

"I bet you made a lot of kids happy that day," Natasha said.

"They thanked me." He pulled a large, hand-drawn card out of the pocket of his bomber jacket. "They made me a thank you card." He smoothed out the wrinkles in the paper.

"I asked the Make-A-Wish lady if there were a lot of kids who wanted to meet the Avengers and she said hundreds. And I wished I could do something to give all those kids their wish and then all this money fell into my hands."

Fury shook his head. At this rate, he was never going to get the Avengers out of his conference room. "What the captain is trying to say is, he plans to use a substantial part of his windfall to hold a holiday party for close to 300 children and their families from all over the country — about 1,000 people total; and he hopes you will make an appearance in uniform as a highlight of the event."

Coming from their different backgrounds, the Avengers each keyed in on different parts of this plan.

Thor heard "party," "children" and "help me" and announced he was in; but Tony heard something else entirely.

"Wait, Steve, that's your life savings!" he exclaimed. He'd worked to make sure Steve could be independent and now his softhearted friend was giving it away! "That's your cushion for your old age."

"Do you really think I'll have one, Tony?" Steve asked curiously.

Tony's breath caught. He didn't know what Steve was asking. Did he want to know if Tony thought he would die young in battle? Or was he asking whether Tony thought the serum would keep Steve young forever, while he watched his friends grow old and die, leaving him alone again — a fate that frightened Steve more than dying in battle.

Natasha enjoyed seeing Stark's tongue momentarily frozen, but she answered Steve's question, "None of us ever know which day may be our last."

"As warriors, we must always be prepared to die," Thor said seriously. "But we must be prepared to live as well!"

"I'm just saying you're not paying for this all on your own," Tony started up again. "I've got more money than God."

"Stark!" Steve and Thor spoke with identical reproach, though they were defending different gods.

"Does God use cash? I don't think so," Tony said to Steve. "And no offense to Papa Odin, big guy, but I don't think he's into dollars and cents, either."

Thor shook his head. "Have a care, friend. The Allfather has a longer reach than you know."

Tony waved it off impatiently. "What I'm saying is, you're not paying for this shindig alone. Stark Industries has a fleet of planes, for one thing. That will be more comfortable for sick kids coming from who knows where."

"But …"

"I've got a problem with all this," Clint said hesitantly.

"It's not mandatory, Clint," Steve said. "If it makes you feel uncomfortable …"

"No, it's not that. Look you know I was in an orphanage for a couple of years. At Christmas the town held a party and gave us gifts and two of the churches made donations to the poor orphans. Three parties all at Christmastime and then they ignored us the rest of the year."

"This is only a Christmas party because Cap's windfall came at this time of the year," Fury reminded his agent.

"How about if we have more than one party a year," Stark suggested. "We could have an unholiday party in, um, August? There aren't any holidays in August, are there?"

"But …" Cap started.

"What we should do is endow a charitable foundation," Bruce put in.

"We?" Tony asked. "Haven't you been living hand-to-mouth in Third World countries?"

"And I thought you were a huge fan of my research," Bruce joked. "I have a couple of patents, not world shaking things but specialized devices for studying gamma rays. The royalties all go into a bank account. I haven't been able to touch it, being on the run. It's built up a pretty penny by now. I'd be willing to sign over the royalties to a charitable trust. The … Captain America Children's Fund?"

"The Avengers Children's Fund," Steve said firmly.

"Natasha and I will contribute, too," Clint said, after getting a nod from his partner.

"You got a lot saved up, Mr. Government Employee?" Tony snarked.

"Wasn't always a government employee, Stark," Clint reminded his friend.

Natasha twirled a wicked knife between her fingers then stabbed it into the scarred and battered conference table. "We were … specialists," she reminded Tony. "You know how highly paid specialists can be."

"It'd be nice to put our ill-gotten gains to good use," Clint said.

"Erase some of the red in my ledger," Natasha agreed.

"Alas, I have no coin of your realm only the card of plastic and that feeds on Tony Stark's bounty," Thor said glumly.

"That's OK, big guy. You can do the heavy lifting," Tony consoled him.

"That I can do and willingly," Thor answered, smiling again.

"So, Avengers Children's Foundation?" Tony asked, getting nods all around, except for Steve who shook his head, sighed and handed Fury a $10 bill.

"Sooner or later, I'll learn to stop betting you," Steve commented.

"You can afford it," Fury said cheerfully.

"What was the bet?" Natasha asked curiously.

"I told him that you'd never let him pay for this party alone, because all the Avengers have serious issues about childhood and family. Helping kids is exactly the sort of charity that would get you excited."

None of them could deny it — not Steve, the childhood asthmatic; not Tony, the neglected child, nor Bruce, the battered child; not Clint, the orphan, nor Natasha, whose childhood had been stolen by Red Room brainwashing. Only Thor had had a happy childhood and his once-loved brother had tried to murder him several times so, yeah, issues.

"So, Avengers Children's Foundation?" Steve asked.

"We'll all put money in," Tony said. "It's not just on you, Steve. And we'll all show up for the meet and greet with the kids."

* * *

_The "meet and greet" would turn out to be so much more, with Black Widow demonstrating gymnastics and Hawkeye giving archery lessons. Bruce had to explain to sad little Hulk fans that the Hulk had to be angry to appear and he could never be angry around so many brave children, but Bruce did have some video to show them. Iron Man cautiously flew cable car gondolas full of children on slow circuits around the park where the party was held and Thor and Cap played gentle toss and catch with giggling children. Most of all, the Avengers took time to talk to their young fans and seriously answer their questions. _

_The children agreed it was the best day of their lives. And it ranked near the top for all the Avengers, too. Afterwards, the group relaxed at the expensive restaurant. That at least was all on Cap's dime, at his insistence. Even with Thor eating his fill, it hardly made a dent in the Super Soldier's back pay._

* * *

But all that was still in the planning stages when the heroes left Fury's conference room and donned their uniforms for a quick flight back to Avengers Tower. They stepped onto the deck of the helicarrier.

Something small and hard hit Tony on the top of his head. "Ouch!" He rubbed the sore spot. Clint keen eye spotted the culprit and scooped the tiny missile off the deck. It was a gold coin.

"I've never seen anything like this before," he said holding it out.

Thor laughed and plucked the coin from the archer's fingers. "I have. This is Viking gold, my friend."

Another coin hit Tony's head, then another bounced off his shoulder.

Clint, Natasha and Steve quit scanning the deck for an attacker and turned their gazes up. Their eyes widened.

"Incoming!" Clint yelled. He and Natasha scattered away from Tony, who quickly flipped his helmet on. Cap raised his shield like an umbrella, but only a couple of coins bounced off the edge. The shower of falling coins centered on Iron Man, pinging and clinking off the titanium alloy armor until Tony was standing knee-deep in a pile of gold.

Thor laughed. "I told you the Allfather's reach was longer than you knew," he reminded Stark. He lifted his face to the sky. "Thank you, Father," he bellowed. "Please forgive my friend. He has a rash mouth, but he is a true battle companion and has a generous heart."

The golden rain drew to a close with a last ping right between Iron Man's eyes when he looked up.

"I do not sense any more falling coins," Jarvis told Tony.

The billionaire cautiously opened his visor and spoke to the sky. "I apologize and I won't do it again. And thanks for the contribution to the children's party. We'll put your name on the program as one of the sponsors."

* * *

And so it was written — or rather printed, because even an old-fashioned Super Soldier wasn't going to hand calligraphy 300 invitations and 1,000 programs.


	14. Art of War

_I wrote most of this story sitting in the Juror Assembly Room (Assembly, ha!) in Santa Ana, Calif. _

_This relates to chapters 7 and 8, but I saved this to be a stocking stuffer for my sister. (And then forgot to put it in her stocking!) Her present to me is an Avengers' story called "Cookies." Look for it under Jelsemium's name._

**The Art of War**

Art student Steve Rogers was in class at the community college when he heard a small explosion not too far away and then the familiar whoosh of Iron Man's repulsors zipping past.

"It's the Avengers!" gasped a student near the window.

Students abandoned their easels to rush to the window for a glimpse of the superheroes, allowing Steve to turn on his cellphone.

Ten missed calls, seventeen text messages, the last of which read, "Cap, assemble dammit!"

"Mrs. Martin!" Steve snapped to the motherly teacher. "Get everybody away from the windows, down to the basement. It's safer."

Everyone in class assumed that Steve was in the military because of the way he said, "sir" and "ma'am" to his elders; so they also assumed he knew what he was talking about when it came to battle safety.

As they obediently began to file out, the teacher asked where Steve was going.

"I've got to help, ma'am. It's what I'm trained for."

Mrs. Martin didn't think anything of it when Steve grabbed up his portfolio case when he left. She thought it must be force of habit.

* * *

AIM troops armed with energy weapons were mounting an assault on the science building. SHIELD hadn't figured out who or what they wanted, so the Avengers were committed to protecting everyone and everything. (Nothing unusual there.)

Their efforts were hampered because the college landscaping was severely overgrown. Budget cuts had led to a reduction in staff and then the chief gardener had been out for six weeks for back surgery. The college quad was well known for its stately trees and lush foliage, but now, with the lack of pruning, it could legitimately be called underbrush. The situation had led to alumni complaints. There were too many places for randy couples to make out.

And there were too many places for AIM troops to hide.

The Avengers had taken up positions around the science building. Apparently the Hulk had enough of Banner's memories to feel a proprietary interest in science buildings. Big Green stood on the roof batting away assault helicopters like King Kong on the Empire State Building — a movie reference Steve actually recognized, as he pulled on his uniform in the shelter of some overgrown bushes.

Iron Man buzzed back and forth, trying to prevent the AIM troops from getting close, but he was frustrated by the tree cover.

The actions of the Hulk and Iron Man left only the front and rear doors for egress, unless AIM wanted to blow a hole in the wall. Hawkeye had found a perch in a tree where he could cover the rear door, but that meant Natasha was alone in front.

She lurked in the shadows of the front entrance pillars, taking out any man who chanced the door. But her position was compromised by the three bodies sprawled on the steps.

Iron Man was trying to spot the command center, as he crisscrossed above the tree-covered quad dodging energy blasts from unseen enemies below. The command center was sending out infrared interference, which prevented Jarvis from getting a lock on the AIM troops.

Tony heard the distinctive blast of one of Hawkeye's explosive arrows. "That's one squad down," the sniper reported. "But there are more hiding in the bushes."

"Where's SHIELD?" Iron Man demanded.

"Still 15 out," Natasha answered. "The helicarrier was lured up the coast by an attack on a facility in Maine. It's up to us to hold here."

"Wish Cap was here. We need a rover," Clint commented.

"I called him and I texted him," Tony said in aggravation. "What part of 'assemble' doesn't he understand?"

Before either of the SHIELD agents could respond, fire lit up the grove that lined the road beside the science building. A concentrated volley from within the tree line blew out every window in the front of the building.

The concussive blast dazed Natasha. She staggered out of cover, stumbling over a corpse on the stairs and falling flat on her face.

Two AIM soldiers stepped out of the trees and raised their energy rifles.

Tony dove, screaming, "No!" because he knew he'd be too late.

Out of the bushes, something flew to slam into the soldiers and knock them flat. Iron Man rocketed along the road, his repulsors vindictively scorching the trees and the soldiers hidden behind them. He plummeted to a one-knee landing beside Tasha and the weapon that had saved her — an artist's portfolio case?

Iron Man spun, repulsors at the ready, as two AIM troopers flew out of the landscaping. They flew limply, already unconscious. A third, still half-conscious staggered onto the sidewalk, but a red-gloved fist to the jaw put him down beside Natasha who had wavered to hands and knees.

Cap stepped out of the bushes, tugging his cowl down and pulling on his left glove.

"'Bout time you got here, Capsicle!" Tony huffed. He held out a hand to Natasha. She ignored it and climbed to her feet by herself.

"Don't need help, Stark."

"Cap's here?" Clint's voice said over the comm. He was relieved to hear Natasha's voice, but didn't let it show. (That would come in private.)

"Our leader gets a tardy, but not an absent for the day," Tony commented. He was still pissed.

"Sorry, guys, I was in class. No phones," Steve apologized. "You all right, Natasha?"

She made a noise of dismissal. "I've been in worse explosions in Stark's kitchen."

"That was Cap's fault!"

"One microwave and they never forget," Cap grumbled. He pulled his shield out of the oversized portfolio case.

"Nice concealment for the shield," Natasha commented, toeing the case.

"Clint's idea," Steve said. "It's not like I can tuck the shield under my jacket! He said there are lots of artists in New York, so it doesn't look out of place to schlep it around. I can carry it like a backpack if I want and there's room for my uniform, too."

"And what if someone asks to see your etchings?" Tony snarked.

"I open the other side. I've always got a half-finished landscape in there. I like big canvases anyway," Steve answered.

All the while they seemed to converse, their gesturing hands were conveying battle plans. Cap and Widow were fluent in the visual shorthand (as was Clint, but he was out of sight on the opposite side of the building). Tony wasn't, but Jarvis interpreted for him.

"Sir, Captain Rogers has located the command station, an armored car located approximately 100 yards away on the west access road," the AI said in Tony's ear on the Avengers' common frequency. "On the captain's mark, spin 130 degrees clockwise and fly straight ahead. If they run, drive them in Mr. Barton's direction."

"Copy," Clint acknowledged.

"Then go!" Cap ordered.

He and Natasha darted into the trees rampaging like wolves through the AIM soldiers just now recovering from Tony's strafing run.

Iron Man spun on his heel to exactly 130 degrees and blasted forward, fists bunched in front of him to slam aside any inconvenient obstacles like saplings, road signs and AIM soldiers. When he saw the armored car ahead, he raised his fingers to bring his palm repulsors into play. The car was already on the move, fleeing on rocket jets as wings sprouted from each side. It began to rise into the air.

"None of that!" Tony said aloud.

He paused midair and launched a single mini-missile from his right shoulder. At the same moment, he saw an arrow winging on an intercept course. Armored car met arrow just as the missile ran up the car's rocket tail. Two explosions sounded as one. The pilot's compartment blew apart and the engine disintegrated into bite-size fragments. The middle of the ship dropped like a stone and shattered on the ground.

"Want to call that a draw?" Clint suggested.

"Works for me," Tony replied.

With the command car's interference ended, Iron Man was already scanning for enemy heat signatures, but they all seemed to be in one location. He flew back to find Captain America directing Hulk into building a cage out of AIM helicopter parts for the prisoners Cap and Natasha had rounded up. Tony was amused to see the Hulk was as happy as a kid with a new box of Tinkertoys.

"Hulk bend!" the big guy said enthusiastically, twisting a helicopter rotor to tie fuselage pieces together. It seems Hulk had some of Bruce's creativity.

"Good job, Hulk," Cap praised, patting a large green knee.

Natasha was collecting any stray prisoners and piling up bodies — and any of the former who resisted quickly became the latter. The survivors were remarkably well-behaved prisoners. Clint swung down from the roof to help her.

Together they prodded the last prisoners into the enclosure before Hulk squeezed two pieces of metal together, fusing the opening shut.

Once the din had ceased, representatives of the college began to emerge and SHIELD reinforcements arrived.

"Finally," Tony grumped, because he had to tear a hole in the Hulk's construction. Bruce was groaning his way back to consciousness under Clint's watchful eye.

Cap came up to Tony to check on him when he saw a woman approaching with diffident determination.

Captain America gave a decidedly unheroic "eep" and hid behind his armored friend.

Tony looked wildly for danger. "Wha..?"

"She can't see me!"

"Who?"

"My teacher!"

"Oh."

Tony turned, blocking Mrs. Martin's view. "You sure she'll recognize you?"

"She's an artist!" Cap hissed. He dodged into the bushes, then a blue-clad arm reached out and snatched the portfolio case into hiding, too.

"Excuse me, Mr. Stark," the woman said.

Tony politely raised his face shield.

"I'm worried about one of my students. He went out to help during the attack."

"People should leave that sort of thing to the professionals," Tony said severely.

"He's an army man," she answered just as severely, with a look over her glasses that said Steve was more professional than a dilettante like Tony Stark.

Tony fought to hide his grin. Damn, he liked her!

"What does your lost lamb look like?" he asked.

Mrs. Martin huffed. "Like this," she said, holding up a watercolor of Steve raising a barbell to his chest. Tony raised his eyebrows.

"Blond and buff," he said. "I believe I did see someone like that helping with crowd control after the battle."

"And he was OK?" she asked anxiously.

"As far as I could tell. If I see him, I'll send him back to class."

Sensing something odd about Tony's attitude, Mrs. Martin was uncertain, but what could she say except, "Thank you."

"May I keep this? So I'll recognize him," Tony asked, reaching for the picture with a straight face despite the sharp intake of breath he heard over his earpiece.

"Steve. His name is Steve Rogers."

"I'll look for him, I promise," Tony said sincerely. Mrs. Martin thanked him and left. Tony watched until she was out of sight.

"You can come out now."

Cap emerged, pulling twigs out of his cowl.

"So, your teacher is painting pictures of you?" Tony said salaciously, waving the picture.

Steve snatched the painting from him. "The whole class was painting me. We take turns posing. That's why almost anyone in the class would recognize Steve Rogers even in Captain America's costume."

"OK, OK." Tony held up his hands to make peace. "Better get back to class, young man, or she'll mark you tardy." Tony shook his finger at his fearless leader, then added more seriously. "Go, we've got this."

"Yeah, we've got this, Cap," Clint said over the comm, reminding Steve that everyone had heard the conversation. "Better get back before mom grounds you."

For a second, Cap looked like he might get mad, but then his expression softened. "As one orphan to another, I know jealously when I hear it, Barton."

Clint didn't have a snappy answer for that truth.

Captain America disappeared back into the bushes and moments later, Steve Rogers emerged, stuffing Cap's shield into the oversized portfolio case.

"Life is simpler when you don't have a secret identity," Tony called after Steve.

"That's only because you can't keep a secret, Stark."

Tony laughed. "Hey! I resemble that remark.


	15. Cave-in

**Cave-in**

The Avengers were used to the extraneous sounds that came over the comms during battle: the grunts of effort, the heavy breathing, the yelps and gasps from near misses and not misses. But they all froze at the blood-curdling scream of pain and fear that followed a ground-shaking explosion.

Iron Man blasted a last robotic opponent in the control circuits, and then darted into a sheltered position. It had been a man's voice, he knew, so it wasn't Natasha; but which of his friends was hurt?

When no command came to report, Tony knew it must be Cap.

"Cap? Cap!" he shouted, then he collected himself and barked, "Avengers, report!"

"Hawkeye, here," Clint Barton's answer came instantly. "And I've got eyes on the Hulk. He's OK."

"Widow," Natasha Romanoff reported, at the same moment Thor chimed in with his name. "Has anyone seen the captain?" the thunder god asked.

"He was going to do a sweep of the tunnel," Natasha answered. "Make sure no one was hiding in there."

"Damn! That's where the explosion came from," Clint said. "I can't see the entrance from here, but an awful lot of dirt flew into the air."

"I'm checking it out," Iron Man said and took off in that direction. "Jarvis, scan for the captain," he told his AI on their private channel, then he switched back to the Avengers frequency. "Everyone else mute your comms and listen," he instructed, then he called, "Cap? Steve, are you OK? Answer me."

He got no reply but … was that the sound of labored breathing? Tony couldn't be sure over the sound of his own flight, but keener ears were listening.

"He's still alive," Natasha said with certainty.

"Here, Tony, let me try," Clint said. Channeling Nick Fury, Clint barked, "Rogers, report!"

That maybe breathing became a definite moan, then breathless words. "Hear you."

"Steve, where are you?" Tony demanded.

"Can't move. Buried."

Iron Man flew around the hill and saw the tunnel had disappeared. The whole opening had slumped into a pile of dirt and sand. And Cap was under there!

Steve moaned again. "Can't move. Can't breathe and there's water coming in. God, not again!"

That fearful cry from their fearless leader, switched Tony into overdrive. "Avengers, assemble! Now!" he roared, but his friends were already on the move. Thor was first, landing beside Iron Man with Mjolnir gripped in his fist.

Natasha was second, eyes constantly scanning for any more enemies as she approached at top speed. Clint delayed, trying to recruit the Hulk. They would need the big guy's power to dig Cap free. But the Hulk was having too much fun stomping on the small but deadly combat drones. Each exploded with a pop and fizzle when Hulk flattened it. The Hulk enjoyed the way it tickled. He ignored Clint's attempts to drag him away from the field of battle.

"Cap is in trouble. We need Hulk to dig," Clint pleaded. "Cap. You know Cap."

Hulk frowned. Hulk knew Cap. Hulk liked Cap. Cap brought Hulk many things to smash. Cap showed Hulk how to stomp on tickle toys. But now Hawk man was trying to take away Hulk's toys. Hulk growled at Barton and went back to demolishing any trace of the enemy drones.

"I can't get Hulk to listen, Tony," Clint said helplessly.

Hulk might listen to Iron Man, because Bruce trusted Tony; but Tony couldn't leave. He was scanning the mountain of dirt for Cap, trying to filter out the interference from all the smashed and sputtering drones.

"Leave it to me," Thor told Iron Man. He spun Mjolnir and launched himself into the air toward the Hulk.

"But Hulk doesn't even like you," Tony muttered. Of course, his mutter carried clearly over the comms, but Thor only smiled. He was counting on that.

The thunder god landed beside the archer. "Forget him, friend Barton," Thor said. "We don't need him to help our captain. I can dig twice as fast as the Hulk."

Hulk heard the boast and roared his displeasure. "Hulk dig!"

Thor winked at Clint, then scooped him up and flew back to Tony with the Hulk pursuing angrily.

The brilliant AI Jarvis had located Captain America, several yards beneath what seemed to be loose dirt and sand. The rising water was not an old memory plaguing Cap, but a real threat. The explosion had fractured the solid rock between the subterranean tunnel and the ocean. Rising seawater was filling the cracks and turning the dirt to freezing liquid mud.

Iron Man began digging straight toward their trapped commander, but the dirt kept falling back into the hole. Thor sprang to his right, Mjolnir twirling like a digging machine. Dirt sprayed backwards in a steady fountain. Hulk shouldered Iron Man out of the way on the left and began digging like a dog, his shovel-like hands flinging great mounds behind him between his legs. Tony switched to shoring up the sides of their makeshift tunnel, blasting the ceiling and sides, fusing the dirt and sand into a thick wall of glass that prevented more dirt from falling. But it was a fragile roof and he had to keep an eye on it, patching it whenever the violent motions of his two digging machines threatened to crack it.

Unable to help with the excavation, Clint and Natasha took up guard positions, in case any of the drones had survived Hulk's enthusiasm. And they called for SHIELD rescue to bring a medical team for their injured leader.

Mjolnir clanged against something. Thor recognized the sound. That harmonic had flattened a forest once. The Asgardian's hand stabbed down and he plucked Cap's shield out of the muck.

"Ware!" Thor called and with hardly a pause in his digging, he flung the shield backwards, past Iron Man, out of the tunnel entrance.

"We must be close," Iron Man said. He pushed past his bigger companions and homed in on Steve's heat signature. He dropped to his knees in a muddy puddle and began to dig more carefully.

Thor swung his hammer to block Hulk. "Slow, my friend. We're looking for our captain."

Hulk growled and spun to face the Asgardian. A gasping breath interrupted the impending attack. The mound beside Tony shifted. Dirt fell away from a pair of blue-clad shoulders.

"Cap!" Iron Man exclaimed.

Hulk forgot his grievance seeing Iron Man unearth the treasure they had sought. Cap lay face down, one arm folded beneath his head providing him a small air space that was half full of water. A massive support beam lay across Cap's back.

Hulk grabbed it and lifted it away with surprising gentleness; then he threw it at Thor fiercely. The Asgardian caught it with a grunt, then set it aside without comment. Though it had been for good purpose, he had deliberately taunted the green beast, so he must try to make amends now.

"Well done, Hulk," Thor praised. "You found our friend."

Hulk wrinkled his lips at Thor, but turned his eyes to Iron Man carefully brushing dirt from Cap's insensible face. Hulk liked Cap. Hulk liked Tin Man. He would help them and ignore the yellow-haired god.

Glazed blue eyes blinked open. Tony flipped up his visor. "Easy, Steve, we've got you. You're safe now."

"Tony?" The voice was a ragged whimper that tore at Tony's heart and made even the Hulk look sorrowful.

"Don't worry. We're going to get you out of here," Tony promised.

The armored gauntlets pushed a bloodied rock away from Steve's head and shoved dirt away from the prostrate body. Iron Man had uncovered Cap down to his hips when a snap resounded in the tunnel.

Cracks began to appear in the thick glass holding back the dirt. The strain had reached the tipping point. First one crack, then another, fissures traveling like forked lightning to meet and split farther apart. Dirt began to dribble into the temporary tunnel.

Cap's body was only half unearthed, but time had run out. Visor dropping down, Iron Man caught Cap under the arms and strained backwards. Cap cried out as his injured back stretched.

Thor put his back against the tunnel wall, arms spread to hold more area in place. Hulk aped the position on the other side. But even a Norse god and a rage monster can't stem the tide. More cracks appeared and then the whole roof shattered.

With an obscene sucking sound, Cap's legs popped free of the wall of mud. Iron Man rocketed backwards down the tunnel, trusting Jarvis' guidance to get him and his passenger to safety.

Tony couldn't see anything except dirt pouring in to fill the hole again, hiding Hulk and Thor from sight.

The biggest Avengers ran, slipping and tripping as the dirt piled up around them. They pulled each other along as they stumbled toward daylight. Hand-in-hand, they burst from the curtain of dust as the tunnel collapsed in on itself. They stopped and looked back, then Hulk realized he was holding his adversary's hand. He snatched it away with a "Bah!" Giving Thor a doubly dirty look, Hulk went off to sulk.

Thor chuckled and ruffled dirt from his long blond hair.

Iron Man found himself standing with Captain America draped from his shoulders. Steve gasped for breath. Gasped, Tony thought firmly, because Captain America could not be sobbing in fear and relief. And if those were tear tracks on his face, well, he'd been buried. There was dirt in his eyes. Anyone who thought different would be reeducated by a titanium fist.

Tony slipped up the Iron Man visor. "Easy, Steve," he soothed. "We got you out. You're safe." Tony didn't think his friend could get much comfort holding on to the hard metal suit, but apparently he did. He clung so tightly that Jarvis registered a dangerous pressure to the seams of the shoulders.

"Easy. Can you stand?"

"Can't feel my feet," Steve admitted.

That was so not good, Tony thought. He remembered the beam lying across Cap's back. Definitely not good.

Cap's cowl was ripped half off and dangling. Tony gently peeled it away. Blue eyes met his, one pupil blown wide and one near a pinpoint in the bright sunlight. Shit! That was doubly not good.

"Thor, can you take him?" Tony requested.

Steve made a whimper of protest and held tighter, making Tony's armor creak. "It's OK, Steve," he said in soothing tones. "It's just Thor. He's warmer and more cushy to lean against than this old armor." And hadn't Thor had armor on just a moment ago? Tony wished he knew how the Asgardian did that quick change when he didn't even carry a duffel bag. The two Avengers carefully made the transfer of their boneless leader.

"Be careful. I think he's got a back injury. Head injury, too," Tony advised.

"I have him," Thor assured Iron Man. The Asgardian held Steve in a firm but gentle grip. He cradled the injured man's head with one big hand.

"His skull is cracked. I can feel it," Thor reported.

"That is beyond not good," Tony muttered.

He scrambled to find something flat to support Cap's back when they laid him down.

"Here," Clint said, as he and Natasha brought a door from a shattered shed nearby.

Together the four Avengers lay Steve down. Crouching by his head, Natasha opened a first aid kit and began sponging the dirt off Steve's face — erasing the signs of tears at the same time, Tony realized. The Black Widow touched the muddy line that indicated the high water mark. It was next to Steve's mouth and nose.

"Too close," she said.

The SHIELD rescue team arrived. A paramedic took Natasha's place at Steve's head. His partner assessed Steve's injuries, then went for soft braces to keep him still without aggravating his injuries further.

Semiconscious, Steve began to move restlessly. The paramedic braced his head to try to hold it still. That seemed to being back Steve's fears of being buried alive and he cried out. A hand reached blindly, Tony caught it.

"It's all right, Steve. You're safe. We found you," Tony said.

The distinctive feel of Iron Man's gauntlets seemed to bring Cap back to partial awareness. "I was afraid," Steve whispered, tears dripping down his cheeks. "I was afraid I'd be lost again."

Tony squeezed his friend's hand. "I won't let that happen. I'll find you whatever happens," he promised. "I'll never stop looking."

Tony caught his breath, hearing his own words.

Comforted, Steve closed his eyes and relaxed.

The Avengers were looking at Tony but the paramedic was looking at the tear-stained face of Captain America.

"He's got a head injury," Tony said savagely, his gritted teeth a threat in themselves.

"We'd better not hear any gossip about this," the Black Widow added, fingering a knife at her hip.

The paramedic, Smithberg, gave them an unintimidated look. With his thumbs he gently brushed the tears from Cap's cheeks.

"I don't talk about my patients ever," he said with dignity.

Steve's expression was calm and his hand was lax. Tony moved away. He surveyed his team. Clint and Natasha had bruises and cuts from the battle.

"We still need to collect the stolen warheads," Clint reminded Tony.

"Thor and I will do the heavy lifting," Tony decided. "You two go in and get checked out."

They nodded without protesting that their injuries were minor. They knew the real job was to see Cap to safety.

Thor went to work with the other members of the rescue team while the others waited for Steve to be loaded into the rescue quinjet.

"You'll never stop looking?" Natasha said in a quiet voice that carried only to Tony's ears. "I know you don't want to hear it, but there's a lot of your father in you."

Tony flipped down his visor so she couldn't see his eyes. "I just realized that," he answered bitterly.

**To Be Continued**


	16. Experimental Treatment (Cave-In part 2)

**Experimental Treatment**

**Cave-In Part 2**

Hawkeye and Black Widow saw their injured leader into the hands of Dr. Rebecca Kiel, a SHIELD doctor they trusted; then they went to Natasha's quarters to treat their own minor cuts and scrapes.

The door burst open and Paramedic Smithberg found himself facing a knife and a gun. But since he expected it, he wasn't fazed.

"I didn't do it!" he exclaimed "Oster is running his mouth in the mess hall about Cap breaking down."

Clint's lip curled in a snarl and he restrapped his knife sheath over the scrape he'd just washed. Natasha bared her teeth and flipped her gun into her hip holster. They followed Smithberg out of the room, but were interrupted by a nurse running down the hall. "Thank heavens I found you!" she called. "Dr. Ames tricked Dr. Kiel into leaving the treatment room and then he locked her, locked all of us, out. There's no one with Cap but Ames and his research team!"

Clint growled aloud. Ames had been one of the researchers who studied him after Loki. He had treated Clint like a lab animal.

"Go help Cap," Natasha said. "I'll get Oster." She pointed at the SHIELD medical duo, "You two find Hill or Fury."

The four split off to their tasks.

* * *

Clint found Dr. Kiel pounding on the examining room door, swearing like a trooper in a way that would have made Captain America blush.

"That's not going to work, Doc," Clint said.

"Barton!" she exclaimed in relief. "He's barricaded the damned door!"

"I've got it," Clint said, prying off the air duct cover.

"Don't get blood on the floor," Dr. Kiel called as Clint disappeared into the vents. "It's slippery."

The paramedics had removed Cap's Kevlar and ceramic plate reinforced jacket, but when Clint saw him in the treatment room, he was still in his dirty, muddy shirt and pants. They hadn't even taken off his boots! Captain America was tied to the examining table with many heavy straps. His injured head was unsupported and wobbled back and forth as he moaned weakly.

No one treated him or comforted him or even paid much attention to him. Instead, they gathered around a bank of instruments, taking notes.

They didn't notice when Hawkeye slipped out of the vent in silent wrath.

"The latest scan shows the swelling around the spine is already going down," an assistant reported.

"The skull fracture is already healing as well," Ames reported with satisfaction. He leaned on the table to peer at the readings. A scalpel seemed to sprout between his fingers, slicing both of them. He jerked back, cutting himself further, and grabbed his bleeding fingers. "What?"

"That's just a paper cut," Clint said scornfully. He waved a large knife. "But I can do worse with this if you don't unlock that door. How much do you like your thumbs?"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Don't tempt me. I can resist everything but temptation."

The banging at the door had ceased. Clint saw a tall, dark shadow looming through the frosted glass. The archer gestured at the door with the knife. An assistant hastened to unbar it. He liked his thumbs right where they were.

"You have no right to do this, Barton," Ames growled. "I have permission."

"You do not," a deep voice said.

* * *

Natasha reached the mess hall to find Rescue Pilot Oster holding forth to a group of agents. Only a few members of his audience looked interested. Most gave the gossiper disgusted looks, grabbed their food and went to the far side of the cafeteria.

As Natasha came up behind Oster, she heard him saying, "Captain America crying like a baby on Iron's Man's shoulder, can you believe it?"

Oster's audience saw the black look on the Black Widows face and immediately lost interest. They backed away quickly.

"What?" Oster asked. The question became a yelp when — like her partner — Natasha went after the fingers. (Great minds think alike.) She caught Oster's left little finger and twisted, sending the pilot to his knees with a cry of agony.

"You are talking about my friend," Natasha hissed. "My friend who has a severe head injury."

"Let go of me!" Oster cried. Then his eyes brightened when he saw rescue coming. "Assistant Director Hill!"

Hill approached, looking stern as usual. Paramedic Smithberg, who still looked angry, followed behind her.

"Agent Romanoff," Hill greeted Natasha.

"Assistant director," Natasha said politely, twisting the finger just a little more, so Oster went to hands and knees.

Hill crouched down to look him in the eyes.

"Oster, you are an amazing pilot. You get the rescue teams in and out of the most treacherous situations. Because of that, we have put up with your personality flaws, but this cannot continue," Hill said.

Oster's heart sank when he realized he was the one in trouble, not Natasha.

"SHIELD is a covert agency, Oster. Co-vert. That means secret. That means we don't gossip about our work EVER. Not even to other SHIELD agents. Because you are with the rescue team, you have access to many personal secrets and we do not want our personal secrets broadcast either, or maybe I should say we especially don't want our personal secrets broadcast. Do … you … understand?" Hill said.

"Yes, ma'am."

Hill looked at Black Widow. "Romanoff, why are you just standing there?"

"I thought your message needed reinforcement."

"No, I mean why haven't you broken that finger yet?"

Natasha didn't show her surprise. "I thought he might need ten fingers to do his job," she answered.

"No, I'm pretty sure he can do inventory at the arctic base with just nine fingers." Hill waved one of her fingers in Oster's face. "This is not merely punishment, Oster. This is an important assignment. I think it will be valuable to have an experienced pilot looking over Schmitt's superplane. It certainly won't hurt you to see where Captain America spent the last 70 years."

Despite the prospect of pain to come, Oster was somewhat relieved to find he was still trusted. And flying in and out of the arctic was the kind of challenge he enjoyed.

"Don't let me down, Oster. I believe in second chances." She flicked a quick smile at Natasha. "I'm not much on thirds."

"Yes, ma'am. No more gossip, I promise." Hill nodded at him, then at Natasha. Black Widow yanked. Oster yelped. The women walked away and the paramedic came forward to check his loud-mouthed teammate.

"Agent Romanoff must have been in a good mood," Smithberg commented.

"Why do you say that?" Oster gasped, waves of red-hot pain washing through his hand.

"Because this isn't broken. It's only dislocated." Smithberg gave it another yank, making Oster scream. Then the pain subsided to a minor throb. "You can be such a jerk, Mike. Don't you know everyone likes Captain America, even Hill?"

"I'll remember, I promise." He looked at the disapproving faces watching him. All of them realized it might have been their embarrassing secrets he'd gossiped about. "I promise," he told them all. "What happens in SHIELD, stays in SHIELD."

* * *

Clint had guessed right. The dark shadow was Director Nick Fury, furious beyond belief.

Kiel and her people flowed around the director to get to their patient. Ames' assistants backed slowly toward the door. Only the researcher stood his ground.

"Director Fury! You said I could have access to the subject," Ames protested.

"I said, if Captain America gave you permission, you could observe his recovery the next time he was injured," the director growled in his deep, ominous voice. "I did not say that you could take over treatment or interfere with treatment in any way."

"But he gave permission," Ames said, showing a document with a spiky, sprawling signature totally unlike Cap's signature, which was so neat and precise as to almost be calligraphy.

"Seriously?" Clint scoffed, never leaving his protective position near Cap's head and never releasing his grip on the knife. "What did you do, put the pen in his hand and write it for him?" The way Ames' assistant flinched and dodged out the door, Clint knew he'd struck the target first time. (Nothing new for Hawkeye.)

Fury looked down his nose at Ames. "The man has a severe head injury. He is not competent to sign a binding document, even if he had signed it himself."

The nurse who had gone for help positioned herself next to Clint and began wiping the dirt from Cap's face. "You didn't even clean this cut!" she exclaimed in outrage. "It's healing right over a piece of gravel!"

Ames shrugged (and almost got a knife between the eyes for his callousness). "His serum-enhanced immune system can fight off any infection that might cause."

"But it shouldn't have to," Dr. Kiel said angrily.

"I do not understand your outrage," Ames said. "Captain America needs no treatment. He will heal and in healing, he may teach us important lessons."

"He is not a guinea pig for your experiments," Clint said irately.

"He's a human being," Kiel said. "All wounded creatures heal eventually. It's our duty as doctors to relieve their pain and help their recovery."

Ames would have argued further, but Fury snapped, "Enough." He gestured at two guards behind him. "Take him to his quarters while I decide what to do with him."

"You wouldn't let me have him, would you, director?" Clint asked hopefully.

"Not likely," Fury said. "I need my best sniper on the streets, not in a cell."

"No revenge for you, Barton," Ames sneered, still certain that his genius would prevent more than a slap on the wrist for punishment.

"I've thought of something better anyway," Clint retorted. "I'm going to tell Stark what you did."

This time Ames paled. Tony Stark was a law unto himself and no respecter of VIPs, and he was much more important to SHIELD than Ames was.

"Don't be surprised when your research computer begins talking in tongues," Clint taunted.

Fury watched the guards take Ames away, then turned back to the medical team. "How is he, doctor?"

"Ames is right about one thing, he is healing, with or without our help," Kiel replied, as she studied the scan history.

"Take care of him," Fury said gruffly, as he turned to leave. "He's been through enough."

Cap began to move restlessly, awakened by the nurse washing his face. She tried to keep his head still, but that just agitated the half-conscious man. He strained against the restraints and began to breathe rapidly in stress.

"Easy, pal," Clint said, gripping Steve's shoulder.

The familiar voice calmed Steve. His eyes blinked open.

"That-a way," Clint encouraged his friend. "You're safe. You're in the SHIELD medical center."

"Trapped. Can't move," Steve panted.

"Shhh. It's OK." Clint stroked his leader's hair and got mad at Ames all over again when his fingers brushed dirt out of the blond hair. "They strapped you down so you couldn't hurt yourself or them. I think they were a little scared of you, muscles," Clint teased.

Steve tilted his head back to find his friend's face. "That's Stark's job, making up names to call me." Clint grinned at this coherent statement. He was encouraged to see Steve's pupils were almost equal in size.

"Very good, captain," Dr. Kiel praised.

"He's got a name," Clint said tersely. Kiel understood that he was still angry about the way Ames treated his friend.

"Of course, he does," she reassured the archer. "But we haven't been properly introduced. I am Dr. Rebecca Kiel. Can you tell me your name?" she asked.

"Steve Rogers, ma'am … doctor," he corrected himself.

"Thank you. I worked hard to earn that title," she said with a kind smile. She had heard that Steve Rogers was a little shy around women. (Yes, gossip did spread despite everything.) She thought he might be uncomfortable with a woman doctor, so it might help to emphasize the "doctor" part.

"If you can tell me my name, you win a prize," Hawkeye said.

Steve studied him thoughtfully. "What do I win, Clint?"

"How about release from bondage?" Clint answered, starting to unfasten the straps around his arms. When Steve's right hand was free, he caught the archer's arm where he could see a fresh bandage.

"Are you OK?" And that was why the Avengers followed him. Nothing phony. Nothing fake. He cared.

"I'm fine. It's just a scratch."

"A 'scratch' scratch?" Steve said skeptically. He'd heard Clint call a through-and-through bullet wound a "scratch."

Clint laughed. "Yes, a 'scratch' scratch. Honest." He crossed his heart. "Nat has a couple of bruises. Everyone else is fine. You're the only one who got hurt."

Steve nodded and Clint continued to unbind his friend.

"What can you tell me about your injuries, Steve?" the doctor asked.

Steve frowned uncertainly. "It's a little hazy. There was a cave-in. I was buried." He shuddered and closed his eyes against the nightmarish memory. Clint had moved on to unstrap Cap's waist. The archer squeezed the nearest wrist.

"It's all right. It's over. Take it slow. Do you want me to tell her the rest?"

"Please."

Kiel really wanted Cap to do it, to test the extent of any memory loss; but Clint stared her down. He refused to let Steve relive that trauma.

"When we got to him, there was a beam across his back and he couldn't feel his legs," Clint said.

Kiel was a little surprised he was so blunt within Cap's hearing, but the super soldier just nodded. The injuries bothered him much less than the "trapped" part.

"He had a head wound, as you can see," he nodded at the injury that was closing neatly now that the nurse had cleaned it out. "Thor said he could feel a crack in Steve's skull."

Kiel nodded. That matched the scans. She shined a light in Steve's eyes. His face was impassive, but his hands clenched so hard on the padded tabletop that the stuffing burst out a hole.

"That hurt?" Kiel asked.

"Like a railroad spike driven in my brain," Steve admitted.

"Well, the good news is, your pupils look equal and reactive now. Your brain injury is resolving nicely."

Clint had freed one leg then moved around to the other side of the table to release the other. He patted Steve's knee. "Almost done," he said.

"I felt that," Steve said. "When Clint touched my knee, I felt that. I remember. Tony had to hold me up because I couldn't feel my legs at all."

"That's very good. Let's test it. Tell me what you feel. No peeking now," the doctor warned.

The nurse put her hands over Steve's eyes as if they were playing peekaboo.

"Tell me when you feel something," Kiel said.

She touched his ankle with a tongue depressor. Steve felt it instantly. She touched his left knee and traced a line down to his left ankle, and then tapped his right leg just above the knee. Steve correctly identified each location.

The nurse took her hands away.

"If all my patients were like you, I'd be out of a job," Kiel commented. "So, tell me how you feel?"

Steve thought for a moment. "Dirty, thirsty, hungry and tired," he answered.

"No pain?"

He shrugged. "My head aches. I ache all over, pretty much. I've had worse," he said drily.

"OK, let's try sitting up," Kiel instructed. She and Barton were ready to help steady the injured man.

Cap sat up and wavered, but the archer's strong arm kept him upright. "OK, add dizzy to the list," Steve said, covering his eyes with his hand.

"Some of that may be that you're dehydrated," Kiel said.

A male nurse brought Steve a glass of water that he drank slowly, but steadily. "That's a little better. Thanks."

"OK, here's my prescription. Mac is going to help you get cleaned up and put you to bed in the infirmary." Steve was relieved she'd indicated the male nurse. "You'll have an IV to rehydrate you and as much food as you can manage without getting sick. And then you'll rest. OK?"

"OK. Will you look at Clint's 'scratch'?" Clint rolled his eyes, but nodded permission.

"I will," the doctor promised.

"Thanks," Steve said sincerely.

Natasha came in time to get a tired nod of greeting from Steve before Mac wheeled him into a recovery room that had a shower.

"He looks better," she said to Clint in relief.

"He is better," Clint answered, also in relief. "You take care of Oster."

"Hill did. He can gossip in arctic base as much as he wants, but I don't think he'll want to," Natasha said with the satisfaction of a job well done.

"Now, Agent Barton, if you'll join me?" Dr. Kiel said from the treatment room. "You wouldn't want me to break a promise to Captain America, would you?"

Clint sighed, but went grabbing his partner by the arm and dragging her with him. "What?"

"If I've got to get bandaged. You've got to get bandaged," he said firmly.

**One more related chapter to come**


	17. You Don't Know What I've Got

_Heavens, everyone wanted to see Tony's revenge, which wasn't where the next chapter went. So I'll have to squeeze in an extra chapter. I'm sure you're disappointed_

**You Don't Know What I've Got**

**Cave-In Part 3**

Collecting the stolen warheads took a lot longer than Tony Stark liked. When the three power lifters finished, he left Thor at Avengers' Tower to watch over a reviving Bruce Banner. (When he woke up and saw Thor, Bruce heard an echo of the Other Guy's displeasure in his mind, but Bruce was always glad to see anyone with a clean pair of pants for him.)

After receiving a terse message from Clint Barton that Cap was recovering, Iron Man flew to SHIELD's medical's facility. He shed his suit and went looking for Steve Rogers.

When Tony found the right room, it was quiet. The injured man lay on his back with three IV's puncturing various parts of his left arm and his right arm covering his eyes.

Tony hesitated, as he was about to enter. He didn't want to wake his injured friend, but touching the door was enough. The super soldier's enhanced hearing caught the whisper of the well-oiled hinges turning.

"Is someone there?" Steve looked toward the door. All he could see as a shadow in the hall, but his keen ears picked up the familiar low hum of the arc reactor. "Tony?"

Stark took a deep breath, plastered a smirk on his face and entered. "Hey, Cap," he said breezily. "I came to see how you were. Didn't mean to wake you."

The billionaire was incredibly relieved to see Steve blinking at him, awake and aware — but, of course, he didn't let his relief show.

"I wasn't asleep," Steve answered, squinting against the dim lighting.

"Really?" Tony looked around the dim, quiet room. "No book, no sketchpad, no TV. I thought you must be sleeping."

"I can't see," Steve sighed. "Everything's a blur."

"Well, that sucks," Tony said in a matter of fact voice, as if a bartender had told him they were out of cinnamon vodka.

His tone didn't fool Steve. He'd heard the swift intake of breath before the words.

"It's OK," the patient reassured his visitor. "Dr. Kiel said not to worry. She said there was a lot of bleeding in the area of the brain that controls sight, but it's resolving quickly. That's doctor talk for getting better, I guess."

Tony wasn't reassured, but if Steve was OK with it, he didn't want to scare his friend by overreacting. "Maybe you'd like a little music, then," he suggested.

Steve made a face. "I've got an awful headache."

Coming from his stoic leader, that mild complaint was the equivalent of someone else rolling and thrashing in agony. Tony nodded at the three IVs. "All that doesn't help?"

"It just takes the edge off."

"We could ask for more. You still have another arm," Tony joked and was appalled by the reaction his quip received.

Steve stiffened, looked left and right as if under attack and seemed ready to throw himself off the bed.

"Easy. Easy." Tony hurried to put both hands on Steve's chest, not trying to hold him down — because he couldn't — but just reminding him that a friend was near. "It's OK. You're safe."

Steve blinked as if awakening from a nightmare, then lay back, panting from the adrenalin rush.

Tony perched on the edge of the bed. "What was that?"

"I don't know. Don't remember." Steve rubbed his free arm across his hazy vision. "The idea of having both arms tied down …" He looked directly at Tony, who was now close enough to see clearly. "Something happened. I can't remember, but Clint was mad and Dr. Kiel, too. I don't…" He plucked restlessly at his covers. "I don't feel safe, but I don't know why."

"Well then, it's a good thing I brought a present," Tony said brightly. He tapped a white cube with smooth corners that he'd set on the bed when Steve had his panic attack. The cube had speaker holes on one side. "Say, hello, J."

"Good day, Captain Rogers. I am sorry to find you under the weather," said a slightly metallic British voice from the device.

"Jarvis?" Steve asked in surprise.

"I thought he could provide some entertainment, if you wanted. You can use him as a phone or he can play any music or video." Tony walked across to the TV and fastened a metal disk to the side. "Maybe recite a book on tape or just answer some of your hundred and one questions about the 21st century. See, the docs won't let us visit after hours if you're out of the woods, which you obviously are but they won't chase out a 'radio'."

"Nice of you to share your toys," Steve said and meant it.

"Yeah, well, I want it back when you get home," Tony said sternly, but not as if he meant it. "Anyway, if you're nervous, Jarvis can also keep an eye on you when you're asleep and call for help if anything happens."

Steve looked embarrassed. "It's dumb. This is a secure base, but…"

"It's not dumb," Tony said. "You're a one-of-a-kind collector's item. An original Captain America." Steve snorted. "We've got to protect our investment. Now, what kind of music would you like?"

Steve made a face. "Nothing too modern, I just don't get it. And nothing from the war, it brings back memories I can't deal with right now."

Tony nodded. When you were sick you didn't want something challenging; you wanted something soothing. Something light and bouncy. "A little early rock, maybe," he mused.

Steve made an even more disgusted face. "Like what you play in your lab? I said I had a headache!"

"No, not heavy metal. A little bubblegum rock. No, too girly. Ooh, I know, surf rock. Yeah, J, a little Beach Boys, maybe some Jan and Dean. You'll like it, Steve. It's innocent, high school romance, healthy sports." Tony grinned suddenly, because he was a car guy — one of the things he and Steve had in common. "Start with 'Little Deuce Coupe,' Jarvis. I'll bet Steve gets it."

Steve peered out from under his arm. "Someone wrote a song about a 1932 Ford?"

"I knew you'd get it," Tony crowed. "A street racer in a 30-year-old hotrod faking out guys in 1960s muscle cars. 'You don't know what I've got,'" he sang the quote.

Steve pretty much followed that. Even though he hadn't heard the term "muscle car," it was self-explanatory. With one of the first V8 engines, 1932 Ford had become one of the first hotrods even back in the 1940s. It was a fast car that looked pretty much like a Model T. That would fool an unwary racer.

This sounded like an innocuous sort of music, Steve thought. Just what his aching head was in the mood for.

"Thanks, Tony, for Jarvis, for everything." He wrinkled his brow in obviously painful thought. "You rescued me, didn't you? I can't really remember a lot after the cave in."

"It doesn't matter. Don't strain your brain, Cap," Tony answered. "You rest and I'll check in with Barton."

"OK." Steve closed his eyes and relaxed to the mellow sounds of the Beach Boys.

* * *

Tony tracked down Clint and only then learned the full story of the "attacks" on the injured Captain America, because Clint hadn't wanted to broadcast anything over the radio.

"It would have spoiled the effort to stop Oster's gossip," Hawkeye said.

Blazing mad, Tony went to find Cap's doctor. "I want to know if those idiots made Cap's condition worse. And don't give me the 'doctor-patient confidentiality' line!"

"Come into my office. I'll tell you anything you want, Mr. Stark," Dr. Kiel said willingly.

Tony eyed her suspiciously. "You will? Why?"

"Because Captain Rogers listed you as next of kin," Dr. Kiel answered.

"He did?" Tony sank into a chair in surprise.

"Yes. You and the other Avengers and Ms. Virginia Potts. He said, the Avengers are the only family he has at this time." She emphasized the final word.

"He said that? He made a joke?"

"He did. It was a sad joke, but still a joke," the doctor answered.

"Aw, Cap," Tony muttered to himself.

Dr. Kiel continued, "He particularly mentioned Dr. Banner might approach me. I believe he thought you would try to hack my files. I assured him that was impossible," she said, as she opened a file drawer and took out a manila folder full of paper."

"Kinda old school for SHIELD, isn't it?" Tony said.

"Yes, well, any file can be stolen. I'm just determined that a thief can't steal my file from his couch in his bathrobe. He's going to have to get some healthy exercise to do it."

Tony smiled. "OK, Barton was right. I like you. Tell me about Steve."

She told him about the skull fracture, the brain injury and the back injury, all of which were healing at the super soldier's usual remarkable rate. A myriad of lesser cuts and bruises were already gone.

"I see no reason why he shouldn't make a complete recovery."

"Even his eyes?" Tony probed.

"Even his eyes. Probably his memory, too, but I don't have a good precedent for that. My real problem is ameliorating his pain. He metabolizes drugs so fast, that they don't help much."

"Bruce — Dr. Banner — found a topical application gave some relief to a leg wound," Tony offered. "Might help Cap's headache, too. I can give you the recipe."

Dr. Kiel looked pleased and made a note on Steve's chart.

"The other question I have is how much damage Oster and Ames did to the captain with their stunts," Tony said seriously.

"Oster? The pilot?" Kiel shook her head. "He helped Steve. Got him here quickly and with no jostling."

"And Ames?"

"That's a different matter. I believe the bleeding and swelling would have been less if I had been able to treat Steve immediately. The scans definitely show the skull fracture shifted, causing more damage, because Steve's head was left unsupported on the treatment table."

"Thank you." Tony sounded grim and determined, nothing like the breezy, sarcastic dilettante he played on TV. "I'll take it from here," he said, as he started out the door.

Kiel remembered the threat Barton had made. "What are you going to do?"

"What an Avenger does best. I'm going to avenge our captain's injuries."

"Exactly what do you have in mind, Stark?" Tony turned to find the grim visage of SHIELD Director Nick Fury looming behind him in the corridor.

"Always do what you do best," Tony answered.

"I've warned you about hacking SHIELD files, haven't I?"

"Perhaps once, maybe twice."

"Maybe more. But in this instance, you have my blessing," Fury said, surprising Tony. "My hands are tied with Ames. The Council approves of his research and there's little I can do to punish him that he would understand. The man is a sociopath — literally. He doesn't feel empathy the way most people do and he doesn't understand it. You can't make him feel guilty. It's not in him. He's as emotionless and logical as a computer. Heck, your Jarvis has more empathy than Ames will ever have."

"And why do you keep him around, Nick?" Tony asked angrily.

"Because he's a meticulous researcher and I'd rather keep him on a leash than let him run wild," Fury said. "But he disobeyed my orders, so you have my permission to swat him with a newspaper and rub his nose in his mess. If he understands that HE will face consequences, then he will be more careful with patients next time. I might have found another way, but Barton suggested the punishment and I think it would be fitting."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "Free rein?"

"Try not to break headquarters," Fury said sardonically. "Ames is confined to quarters with no computer access, so you may have to get creative."

"Creative is my middle name." Tony mused. Having Ames locked up limited the angst his computer hacking could cause. "Can you let one of his minions report to him regularly? Barton said he has minions."

"That can be arranged," Fury said, teeth flashing white in his dark face. "Have fun. Don't hurt anyone." He walked away.

"Spoilsport," Tony called after him. Tony wanted to hurt the man who'd hurt Captain America, but that would not be fitting for a hero. Sometimes it was hell being one of the good guys.

* * *

Tony had brought the Jarvis connection to keep Steve Company and allow the Avengers to check up on their leader while he was in SHIELD hands. (No, none of them were paranoid. Don't be ridiculous.)

But the connection turned out to be the perfect platform to hack Ames' research computer. Jarvis was an awesome multi-tasker. While Steve was learning about "California Girls" and "Surfin' Safari," Tony was using Jarvis to steal all Ames info about Captain America.

Where Tony got mean was stealing it bit by byte, allowing Ames' assistant time to run frantically to report to his boss. When he'd get back to the lab, another hunk was gone. First everything from the treatment room today — all saved to be given to Dr. Kiel, then everything Ames had collected about Cap previously in legitimate fashion.

"It's Stark. It must be Stark," Ames muttered, pacing back and forth in his guarded room.

Ames' lab rats tried to save what they could, but every backup failed. When checked, the old backups were empty, except for a jpg of the Stark Industries logo.

* * *

_("Nice touch, J," Tony complimented. "Thank you, sir.")_

* * *

Finally Tony and Jarvis removed everything that was public knowledge, even down to a Wikipedia reference. Further more, Ames' computers were blocked from accessing even the most innocuous information about Steve Rogers or Captain America. They couldn't even look for trading cards on eBay.

Over the three days that Cap was on bed rest, Tony and friends made sure they'd snagged every crumb. The data even disappeared from the assistant's personal flash drive that he carried in his pants pocket, though the photos of his three-year-old were untouched.

* * *

_("Nice pickpocketing, Romanoff." "It was a genuine pleasure, Stark." "Isn't that Barton's line?" "I stole that, too.")_

* * *

In the meantime, Ames was suffering his own personal horror story. The lights in his quarters would dim during the day and blaze annoyingly bright all night. His TV showed nothing but "Supernanny," a tribute to Cap's biggest fan. Music played all day and night. First Tony's loudest, head-banging rock, then "The Macarena" played over and over at triple speed, making the singers sound like the Chipmunks. This was followed by badly played, high-pitched Japanese folk songs all night.

* * *

_("This amateur group is awful, J. Good find.")_

* * *

The final day featured the earworm of all earworms, the theme for "It's a Small World" sung by a Ukrainian children's choir. It was so sweet it made Tony's teeth ache, even though he couldn't understand a word.

Ames endured, gritting his teeth against the annoyance, burrowing under the covers to try to sleep, writing up notes in longhand with his nose practically pressed to the paper because the light was so dim.

He didn't break until those notes disappeared when he turned his back for just a moment. When he looked back, there was nothing on his desk but a small American flag.

* * *

_("Always the air vents with you, Barton." "Never mess with a classic, Stark.")_

* * *

"No!" Ames shouted at the ceiling, literally tearing at his hair. "I surrender. Stark, director, please. I will never touch another patient without express permission. Please, some of those notes are about time sensitive cases."

The notes reappeared as mysteriously as they'd gone about an hour later, vetted by Fury. Everything about Cap had been redacted, but the rest was intact.

* * *

When Steve Rogers, carrying the Jarvis box, was wheeled to a quintet to return to Avengers Tower, Ames research computer held only one item of Captain Americana. The TV in Ames' room and all the computer monitors in his lab flashed the famous picture of Cap saluting the camera. Across the photo was stamped in blood red letters: AVENGED!

* * *

_And now you still have part four to look forward to._


	18. Recuperation

**Recuperation**

**Cave-In Part 4**

Steve was quiet during his recovery on the SHIELD base, but he was never a chatterbox so no one thought much of it. When he was released, the doctors didn't want him to be by himself, so he went to Avengers Tower instead of his little place in Brooklyn.

His friends welcomed him exuberantly, but Steve only offered quiet thanks and asked to be left alone for a while. The Avengers understood. Steve was a private person and there was precious little privacy in a hospital.

They left him, but because they were still worried, Tony asked Jarvis to keep an eye on him — a sensor, really, since there were no cameras in the private quarters.

Lunch passed and there was no sign of Steve.

"He's lying on his bed, sir," the AI reported when asked.

"That's good. He needs his rest," Tony said.

Jarvis knew Steve wasn't asleep, but the AI wasn't asked, so he didn't volunteer the information. Not sleeping was not a life threatening situation (as Stark had often told him) and he only had been asked to report anything dangerous.

When dinnertime approached and still no Steve, Clint went to wake him.

"C'mon, Cap, time for dinner," he called into the intercom at the door.

"I'm not hungry."

"OK, now you're lying. You're always hungry," Clint retorted. "Come out, please, or I'll send Natasha in to get you."

"Please, Steve. You're worrying us." Pepper Potts added her plea to the Avenger's.

Steve opened the door, combing his rumpled hair into place with his fingers. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause any more trouble."

Clint and Pepper exchanged questioning looks. More trouble? Pepper twined her arm with his and led the super soldier to the dinner table. "You're the only one who doesn't cause trouble, Steve. That's why I've missed you."

Steve ate just one helping of dinner, which was picking at his food for the super soldier.

"What's wrong, Steve?" Bruce asked. "Did they release you from the hospital too soon?"

"No." Making a decision, Steve asked Pepper if he could speak to just the Avengers for a moment.

"Of course. I'll get the dessert ready," she said graciously and went to the kitchen.

"OK, just so you know, getting dessert ready only means getting the cake out of the refrigerator. It's not a lengthy process," Tony warned.

Steve stood at parade rest, comforted by military regimen at this stressful moment. "I want you to know that I've remembered everything that happened. I remember begging for help and crying on Tony's shoulder. I remember panicking in the hospital until Clint reassured me. I apologize for embarrassing all of you with my weakness. I understand if you don't want me to lead the Avengers any more, but I hope you'll allow me to stay on the team."

The Avengers were so stunned, no one spoke. Steve's head drooped, his shoulders slumped and he turned to leave.

Fast as a cat, Natasha was out of her chair and in front of the man before he could escape the room. She stuck her finger into his chest and he froze as if it had been a knife — because it could just as easily have been a knife.

"Get back in there and sit down," she instructed. "We need to talk."

Steve obeyed, because he was not a stupid man. Only stupid men crossed Natasha and even stupid men only did it once.

"Steve! What made you think we wanted you to step down?" Clint said in exasperation. "That would leave Stark in charge and nobody wants that!"

"Not even Stark," Tony muttered. But seeing the others shaking their heads in tune with Clint's statement, Tony had to protest. "Not nice, guys!"

Thor clapped a heavy hand on Tony's shoulder, making him wince.

"I would follow the Man of Iron into battle any day, my friend. You are a worthy substitute for Captain America but you are a reluctant general at best. You are clever, but you lack Steve Rogers' knowledge of tactics and strategy."

"Thanks, big guy, I think," Tony said doubtfully, rolling his shoulder to make sure nothing was broken.

"I meant no insult, my friend, for I would say the same of myself. I have led Asgardians in battle, but compared to our captain, I am but a student of war."

"Well, you know I can't do it," Bruce said. "And I'm pretty sure Clint and Natasha aren't suited for it, either."

"Nat's a spy, not a soldier," Clint said. "And I'm a sniper, not a commanding officer."

"We're better on the fringes of battle, looking for the weak spots and exploiting them," Natasha said. "I'm afraid you're stuck with us, Cap."

"Then you're still willing to follow me, even after I embarrassed you by breaking down in public?"

"Cap, remember a month ago when I got blasted off that building and you caught me?" Clint asked.

Steve grinned. "Hard to forget when you threw up all over me." (And he meant all over him — down his front, down his back and a third time across his boots.)

"You didn't hold that against me," Clint pointed out.

"You had a concussion."

"And you had a fractured skull," Tony said. "Look, I'm not going to say it wasn't embarrassing, but I get embarrassed when anyone cries on my shoulder — sentimental old ladies, old girlfriends, Pepper, anyone. I'm sorry you were embarrassed, but that's not going to get you out of leading this merry band of misfits."

"Wait, it's not …," Cap started. He paused and the Avengers saw Captain America melt into Steve Rogers right before their eyes. The stoic soldier mask dissolved into a wry smile and his military posture relaxed. "It's not that I was embarrassed," Steve said. "I was the skinny little kid in the neighborhood, remember? I was often embarrassed, or maybe I should say humiliated. The bigger kids beat me up, stole my spending money, broke my drawing pencils and one time hung me on a post by the back of my pants so I couldn't get down. That stuff doesn't hurt me. Sure, I'm embarrassed, but that's stuff that happened to me, it's not me."

"Then what are you apologizing for?" Bruce asked.

"For embarrassing you. For embarrassing the Avengers," Steve said.

The others exchanged glances. "I don't remember that," Tony said. "I don't remember thinking, damn, Cap is embarrassing the hell out of me. I remember being scared to death that you were going to die while I was listening and unable to help. I remember feeling guilty that I might have crippled you by yanking you out of the dirt willy-nilly. I remember being worried sick, but I don't remember being embarrassed. What about you guys?"

"I agree with Stark — so you know it must be true," Natasha said drily.

Clint nodded but Thor studied the ceiling thoughtfully. "I do remember being embarrassed," he said. "But it had nothing to do with supporting a weeping, wounded comrade. My embarrassing moment came when the Hulk and I pulled each other out of the collapsing tunnel. We found ourselves standing hand-in-hand as if we were young lovers," Thor said with a grin that suggested he hadn't been embarrassed at all.

"Wait, I thought that was just a dream," Bruce protested. "That was real?"

"It was."

"There you go, Spangles. Your episode was only the second most embarrassing thing that happened at the battle."

If Tony was calling him names again, then everything was back to normal.

"Look, Steve, I think I understand," Bruce said earnestly. "Captain America is a symbol and you feel you always have to live up to that ideal of perfection; but Steve Rogers is more — and less — than Cap. Steve can be weak with us. It's OK. It doesn't change our opinion of Cap. I hope you can believe it."

Steve looked around at his team, at his friends, and saw agreement on all their faces. He nodded.

"So we're good, right? You're still the captain?" Tony asked. "We can have cake? We can release Pepper from the kitchen before she dies of curiosity?"

"Yes to all of the above," Steve agreed.

* * *

Pepper carried in a beautiful welcome home layer cake, decorated to look like Captain America's shield.

"I have to say, this isn't even a custom job," Tony admitted. "It's one of their standard birthday cakes for little boys. The decorator was so proud. She said they usually cut off the dome where the cake puffs up in the middle to make a flat surface for decorating. But for this she leaves it curved, so it's more like the shield."

"She was very flattered that this was really for Captain America," Pepper said.

"She's a cake decorating genius," Bruce said. One genius ought to recognize another. When they tasted the cake, the Avengers unanimously amended the ruling to cake genius, not just cake decorating genius.

The Avengers celebrated the return of their leader and Steve, in relief, ate another helping of dinner along with his dessert. Afterward, the teammates separated to their own devices, but Steve tracked Tony to his lab.

"You remember all of it, don't you?" Tony said without meeting Cap's eyes. "The 'never stop looking' part and everything."

Steve nodded.

"Damn that serum-enhanced memory," the billionaire muttered.

"I appreciate it more than you know, Tony. I have nightmares about being lost again and waking up another 70 years in the future and losing everyone again. It comforts me to think you would look for me, because I haven't seen you fail at much," Steve said.

Tony had no words to answer such heartfelt mush.

A corner of Steve's mouth quirked in a grin. "I also heard what Natasha said, you know. Serum-enhanced hearing, too. You are like your dad, but I don't think you'll make the same mistakes he did. Don't neglect your family on my account, if it comes to that, which I hope it won't."

"You are ridiculous," Tony said without heat. "You're young enough to be my kid, old enough to be my father. You're an old-fashioned, flag-waving anachronism. I hated you because my father seemed to care more about you than he did about me; but now that I know you, I understand. I even … I even agree. With everything I have and everything I've done, you're a better man than I'll ever be." He made his statement without rancor, but as if it was a mathematically proved fact.

Steve just shook his head. "You don't know how much I admire you. You turned your life around. Dr. Erskine made Captain America, but you made yourself a hero. Your father was a coworker, but you're a friend. I liked Howard, Tony," Steve said, as he turned to leave. "But I like you more."

Tony felt ridiculously warmed by the sentiment, then realized with amused annoyance that he'd been "team spirited" by the expert.

"And that's why we need you to be in charge," he called after Steve. "Warm and fuzzy gives me hives."

**That's the end of the Cave-In trilogy that became a quad.**


	19. Hot!

_A/N: Winter is going on too long. Here's some summer heat.__Takes place not too long after "Fifth of July." Just close your eyes and imagine the scene. No, wait, you can't read if your eyes are closed. Read the story and enjoy the visuals anyway._

* * *

**Hot!**

"Where are you going dressed like that?"

The exasperated voice made Steve Rogers start. He looked behind him at Natasha Romanoff, standing with her hands on her hips, and immediately looked away because she'd forgotten to get dressed. Well, she was dressed in an opaque black sports bra/top and matching short shorts. She was fully covered by the standards of 2012, but not by the standards of 1942.

Steve gulped nervously and looked down at his gray sweatpants and matching hoodie. "I was going for a run?" he said, more question than answer.

"Steve, it's 102 degrees outside! You'll roast! You especially," she added, because the Super Soldier's body temperature always ran a little higher than normal.

"I'm fine as long as I stay hydrated," Steve replied, taking a bottle of water from his pocket and showing it to her, without looking back.

"But I know you have summer running gear," Natasha argued. "Clint and I got you a full range of athletic clothes for your birthday." And they were the most modest shorts they could find, too, loose and falling to just above Steve's knee. "I've seen you wear those shorts," she accused, coming around to face him.

"That was here, in the gym," Steve countered, staring over her shoulder at a spot on the wall. "When I wear them outside I feel like I'm going out in public in my underwear," he complained.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Natasha said, amused.

Surprised, Steve met her eyes. "But people stare," he said simply.

"Of course, they do!" Natasha threw up her hands, then grabbed Steve by the chin and turned his head to face a hallway mirror. "You're an artist. You look at that man there and tell me, if you were painting him would you use him as a model for Quasimodo or Adonis?"

Steve flushed magenta.

"Honest answer," Natasha ordered.

Steve sighed. "Adonis," he admitted. "But … that's not who I see. I still see short, skinny, wheezing Steve Rogers."

"That Steve only exists in your memory," Natasha said kindly, as she released his chin and patted his cheek. "We appreciate that Steve, because he made you the considerate, modest man you are today, but there's such a thing as being too modest!"

"I … um." Steve tried to avoid looking at his teammate, but she was in his face.

"Can you even look at me without blushing?" she asked.

"I don't think so," he croaked, blushing.

"OK, we'll have to work on desensitizing you," Natasha said thoughtfully. "If you act shifty like this around other women they'll think you're a pervert. Captain America can't be a pervert," she said sardonically.

Steve agreed, because Cap represented the country. (Though from his 1940s perspective, America seemed like a country full of perverts these days.)

"I'll wear tight dresses. Pepper can wear her Daisy Dukes," Natasha said, planning her attack.

"Daisy whats?"

"Those tight jeans shorts she likes. Jarvis, add 'Dukes of Hazzard' to Cap's viewing list," she said.

"The original television series or the more recent movie remake, Miss Romanoff?" the AI asked.

Natasha shuddered. "The original, please. Hardly any of the movie remakes are worth watching."

"Yes, miss."

Clint Barton came out of his room. "Hey, guys."

"Where do you think you're going?" Natasha demanded.

He tilted his head at her, birdlike. Since he was carrying his bow and wearing his quiver, he wondered if this was a trick question. "I was going to the archery range?" he answered cautiously.

"No, we're going for a run with Cap." She flicked her fingers at her partner.

He stiffened obligingly. "We're going for a run with Cap."

"You will change into your running shorts." She waved her hand.

"I will change into my running shorts," he said obediently.

"These are not the droids you're looking for."

"There are not the droids we're looking for."

"Move along."

"Move along." He turned robotically, took two stiff steps back to his door, then ducked into his room, already shedding his quiver.

Natasha turned to Steve and pointed her finger sternly. "You will change into shorts and a tank top."

He held up his hands, "OK, don't use those Jedi mind tricks on me." He was absurdly pleased that he understood the reference.

"Men!" Natasha muttered, as Steve went to change.

Clint returned first wearing navy blue shorts and a shirt that was solid navy on top across the shoulders, but made of see-through mesh below that showed off his six-pack abs. "So, what's going on?" he asked.

Natasha explained that she was trying to help Steve get over his body shyness.

"It's never been a problem with Cap, you know, only with Steve," Clint pointed out.

Natasha rolled her eyes at him. "We don't want him to have a split personality, just a secret identity!"

Clint held up his hands in surrender. "OK, OK," he laughed. "Well if you really want to try to desensitize him, then I have an idea." When he explained, Natasha whacked him on his six-pack abs. "Barton, you're a pig."

"I'm just elaborating on your idea," Clint laughed. He knew she'd agreed to his idea, because she'd only given him a love tap.

Steve returned in long, khaki cargo shorts and a loose tan tank top with a U.S. flag design. Natasha looked at Steve with his powerful shoulders and muscular arms exposed to view and then Clint with his abs on display and his shorts clinging to his tight butt. There were worse jobs, she smirked.

Clint nudged her with an elbow. "Who's the pig now, Romanoff?" He dodged her retaliatory strike.

As they went down in the elevator, Clint coached Steve. "Remember, you can admire, but don't desire. Think of them as pieces of living art. Look, but don't touch."

"What if someone catches me looking?" Steve asked anxiously.

"Just smile. Anyway, I'm pretty sure it will be the other way around today. We will catch people looking at us, because the three of us are a beautiful sight to see," Clint said with an expansive gesture.

When they reached the street, Natasha instructed, "I'll lead the way and you boys follow me."

Clint jogged, happy with his plan, admiring the view from behind Natasha. He heard Steve swallow hard. "Aesthetic appreciation only, big guy. Remember, she's the Black Widow. She can kill you with her sweatband."

Steve thought his blush might become permanent. If he wasn't looking at Natasha's cute derriere, he was meeting appreciative gazes from women (and a couple of men) all along their route.

Seeing his friend's red face, Clint just shook his head. "We picked the right weather to try this. Anyone who sees that blush will just think you're sunburned."

Another woman turned to watch as Steve jogged past. She licked her lips and purred loud enough for him to hear.

Steve's skin prickled with heat and he splashed some water on his face. "I think I would have felt less overheated in my sweats," Steve muttered.

Clint laughed. "Face it Steve, we're hot!"


	20. Soldier

_A/N: Humor last time, a little drama this time. In case you missed it last week, I posted a new story last Saturday, "Why Shouldn't They Be Friends?" Just click on the Qweb and scroll down past the Five-0 stories._

**Soldier**

After defeating a small army with laser guns and a pack of mutant hyenas with jaws strong enough to crush titanium alloy — as Iron Man found out to his cost — the crazed superheroic battle came down to this — one madman holding a knife to the throat of a little girl.

The Mocker had chosen his escape route well. The passage was just wide enough for one slender person at a time. The Mocker backed down it, spine hunched to hide behind the 10-year-old. Tears ran down her pudgy cheeks.

"Let her go, Mocker. She hasn't done anything," Captain America ordered.

Cap stood at the far end of the passage. His shoulders were too wide for the slot. He would have to turn sideways to pursue, exposing himself to the laser gun he knew the Mocker had.

"But she's just the right size to hide behind, captain," the Mocker cackled, living up to his pseudonym. He was almost entirely hidden behind the girl. Only his knife hand and one gleeful eye were visible to Cap.

Beyond the villain, the super soldier's sharp eyes could detect a trap door in the ground — a hole with too small a circumference for Cap to squeeze through. He surmised the Mocker planned to drop down, probably slitting the girl's throat as a distraction. Black Widow was the only Avenger present who was slim enough to pursue through the small opening, but she had a dislocated shoulder and was trying with one hand to pry off Iron Man's crushed boot before the lack of circulation caused permanent damage to Tony's leg.

Hawkeye backed up Cap, off to the side out of the Mocker's view. The archer might have been able to take out the villain, but he couldn't see past his leader's body and shield. And if the Mocker caught a glimpse of Clint, the girl would die before the archer could bring his bow to bear. So Clint lurked out of sight, waiting for Cap's command.

It came in a form he didn't expect. Cap moved his right hand behind his back and held it out palm up. Obviously he wanted something, but Clint didn't know what. He traced a question mark on Steve's palm, finishing with a tap as a dot.

Steve pointed his forefinger, raised his thumb at a right angle and curled the rest of his fingers under.

That was plain enough, though unlike Cap.

Steve heard the faintest creak of Clint's Kevlar vest, a whisper of sliding metal and a distinctive click. Then metal warmed to body temperature was pressed into his hand.

"Ashley, close your eyes, sweetheart," Steve instructed the girl.

She obeyed because he was Captain America. He would save her.

"What are you up to, captain?" the Mocker mocked. "You won't try to rush me and imperil this sweet morsel. I know you too well. I know all about you — anachronism, science experiment. You were a tool fighting in World War II, super soldier," he sneered.

"You know all about me," Cap answered calmly, almost politely. "But apparently you have forgotten one thing. The meaning of the word, 'soldier.'"

His serum-enhanced reflexes brought the gun up before the Mocker even registered the meaning of Cap's words. Steve aimed and fired in a split instant, hitting the one mocking eye he could see.

Her eyes still closed, Ashley squawked when the man behind her, slumped on her shoulders. Then Cap was there, slipping sideways to reach the girl. Steve shoved the body contemptuously away from the child. Putting his arm around the girl, he drew her to safety.

"Keep your eyes shut a little longer," he said, as they edged toward the exit.

Leaning on Natasha, Tony limped up, his visor open and one foot bare and bleeding, but his hand repulsors were ready, just as the Black Widow's knives were ready, despite her misshapen shoulder.

"You guys can stand down. It's over," Clint said. He snugged his pistol back in its holster.

Escaping the confines of the passage, Cap picked up the girl to return her to her frightened mother.

Natasha and Tony looked past to see the Mocker dead with one bullet hole through the eye.

"You do neat work, Hawkeye," Tony commented.

Steve heard and looked back to meet Clint's eyes. The former Army man gave his captain a quick salute.

"Not me," Clint answered. "That was a different soldier."

_A/N: No, I don't have a hyena fight written. Use your imagination._


	21. The Bodyguard

**The Bodyguard**

Happy Hogan pulled the rented sedan over in the alley near the back door of Tony Stark's favorite restaurant in Chicago. Tony and the love of his life, Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, were celebrating a profitable business deal with a Chicago-based energy company.

They knew Carlo Benedetti would fix them a feast fit for Italian nobility in honor of their triumph. When Happy stopped, Tony slid out and offered his hand to the svelte, strawberry blonde who — God knew — put up with so much from him.

"I was good today, wasn't I?" he smirked, his dark goatee giving his lean face a sardonic air that was not misleading at all.

"You were very well behaved today, Tony," Pepper answered, seeking and achieving the tones of a kindergarten teacher praising a student. "Shall I give you a lollipop as a reward?" Her eyes sparkled.

Tony combed his dark hair with his fingers and replied with a roguish grin, "I can think of another reward I'd rather have."

"Mr. Stark," Pepper chided primly, but with a twinkle in her eyes. "Is that any way to talk to your CEO?"

"Only when the CEO is also my girlfriend," Tony answered. "Otherwise it would be creepy."

Though Tony and Pepper were heading for the rear entrance of the restaurant to avoid paparazzi, the alley was just off a well-traveled shortcut in this district of clubs, shops and restaurants. They didn't think anything about two men approaching, until one shoved Tony to the ground. When Happy leaped out of the car to come to his boss' defense, the other thug slugged him with a blackjack. The dazed chauffeur sagged across the driver's seat.

Pepper dropped to her knees when Tony sprawled at her feet. She clutched at his shoulders, helping him sit up. The two big, tough-looking attackers loomed over them.

"You're coming with us, Mr. Stark," one said gruffly.

It didn't matter in this case that Tony Stark was Iron Man. Though his portable suit was in the backseat, he'd never be able to deploy it before these men could kill him or, worse, hurt Pepper. But maybe the genius billionaire could get out of trouble when the superhero couldn't.

He fished his wallet out of his pocket, gripping it so tightly the silver monogram seemed to sink deeper into the leather. He tossed the wallet at the men's feet.

"Here, take the money and leave us alone," Tony said firmly. He felt Pepper tense at his back, but her hand was steady on his shoulder.

"We don't want your money, we want you."

In unison the men stepped closer. Then two hands emerged from the darkness behind them. One hand caught each head and clashed them together with a hollow thud like a watermelon dropped on pavement. The hands gripped outside ears and strands of greasy hair, then threw the men to either side behind Tony's newly revealed rescuer.

Big and blond with an amiable grin, the man wore a neat, dark blue business suit well fitted across broad shoulders and had a familiar face. He was well aware they'd attracted spectators and he spoke for the listeners' benefit. "Mr. Stark," Steve Rogers chided. "You shouldn't get so far ahead of your bodyguard."

He extended a hand to help Tony up, but his fellow Avenger perversely relaxed back on one elbow and shook a finger at Captain America in civilian clothes.

"That move was straight out of a 1940s comedy," Tony accused.

The man from the 1940s grinned boyishly. "I love those movies," he agreed. "Hope and Crosby, Abbott and Costello."

Since Tony made no move to rise, Steve offered both hands to gently raise Pepper to her feet. Still worried about their attackers, she looked around Steve's broad shoulders.

"What about …?" she started, but her words tailed off with an "Oh."

She and Tony saw that one thug had already disappeared. Two hands emerged from the shadows to grasp the second man's legs and drag him out of sight. One was a well-muscled man's arm, bare except for a wrist guard. The other was a slender woman's arm clad in black with a chunky bracelet encircling her wrist. That bracelet was a close-range taser, Pepper knew. She also knew that if Captain America was here backed up by Hawkeye and Black Widow, then SHIELD wanted Tony.

"Oh," she said in disappointment. "Who do you need, Iron Man or Tony Stark?" she asked quietly.

Steve smiled apologetically. "At the moment, we just need the genius. If I could leave the billionaire playboy philanthropist with you, I would."

"That would be messy," Tony commented, still relaxing on the alley floor, folding his hands and crossing his legs at the ankle.

Steve scanned the growing crowd. "That's all, folks. Nothing more to see here," he said firmly. "No pictures, please, sir. Thank you."

It only went to prove that Captain America was more than the suit or the serum. His politely commanding tone made it clear that Steve had the authority to give orders and his friendly, guileless blue eyes said he knew you were a good soldier and would obey.

The man put away his phone and apologized. It was a half an hour later he realized how much money he could have gotten from the tabloids for a picture of Tony Stark lying in an alley. Then he literally beat his head against the wall.

As Steve again offered his hand to help Tony up, he was tackled from behind.

"I got him, boss, run!" Happy said hoarsely. Blood ran freely from a gash in the chauffeur's head. His eyes were glazed but he held on grimly, certain he was restraining Tony's attacker; but, in fact, Steve had hardly budged under Happy's assault and it was Cap's grip that kept the injured man on his feet.

Tony sprang to his feet when Happy began grappling with the bemused super soldier.

"Happy, this isn't our attacker. This is Steve, my security consultant. You remember Steve?"

Happy blinked away his daze and realized he was looking into the concerned eyes of Captain America. "Ca…"

"Steve, Happy, remember?" Cap said before Happy could say more.

Happy flushed. He'd almost blurted out Cap's secret identity or Steve's superhero identity — that was too abstruse a conundrum for an injured man to deal with.

"Steve," he agreed. "Sorry."

Steve patted his shoulder and guided him to lean on the sedan. "It's OK. I'm surprised you can remember your own name. That's quite a knock you took." He examined the head wound, but it didn't seem too bad and the chauffeur already looked more aware.

Seeing that Happy seemed steadier, Steve reached down to pick up Tony's forgotten wallet.

"Don't touch that!" Tony, Pepper and Happy all cried at once.

Steve snatched his hand back as if the leather turned out to be a snake.

"I wasn't going to steal your money, Tony," he said warily.

"It's booby-trapped. Right now, only Pep, Happy and I can pick it up safely," Tony explained. He picked up the wallet and pressed the monogram until he felt it shift again. "OK, it's safe now." He tossed it at Cap who automatically caught it, juggled it nervously for a moment, then studied it when he realized it wasn't going to bite. "What's it do?"

"A high-powered taser, like the Bite," Tony answered, referring to the Widow's Bite, Black Widow's favored weapon. "Just because I don't have the suit, doesn't mean I'm helpless," he said aggressively.

"Never thought it for a moment," Cap answered, tossing the wallet back.

"You should see what he keeps on his key ring," Pepper contributed.

Steve didn't want to know.

"I figure, most attackers will take the wallet or the car keys," Tony explained, appeased.

"Then they'll be sorry they messed with the boss," Happy said proudly.

"Mr. Stark, are you and Ms. Potts all right?" The restaurant owner came out after an employee told him about the ruckus in the alley.

"We're fine, Carlo," Tony assured the man. "Happy's a little worse for wear, though."

"I've had worse in the ring, boss," the former boxer protested.

"I don't think I'll be staying for dinner, however. Something's come up."

"We already fixed your favorites," Carlo said. "It will only take a moment to package it to go." He turned and shouted orders at the kitchen.

Tony heard a hiss from the shadows. Natasha Romanoff's hand beckoned imperiously. She wanted Tony to come immediately. Tony deliberately turned his back, earning another hiss of displeasure.

"That's the double order of lasagna, right?" he asked Carlo. "Enough for four?"

"Of course, so you have plenty to take home," the chef agreed.

Clint Barton's hand came out of the darkness and pulled Natasha's back into hiding. Tony and Steve shared a quick smile. The way to Hawkeye's heart was through his stomach.

Then Tony frowned. Of course, if they have to share with Cap … The super soldier needed to eat twice as much as the other human Avengers. He was too polite to take more than his share of a treat like this and Tony didn't want him to go hungry.

"Add a couple of loaves of garlic bread to the order," he said. Carlo went back to the kitchen to organize the to-go order, leaving the Avengers, Pepper and Happy alone in the alley.

Tony turned to Pepper.

"Don't say you're sorry," she ordered. "If they need you, you'd better go."

"I was going to apologize for taking all the food, actually," Tony said with studied carelessness.

Pepper smiled. "Then I'll have the lobster ravioli and champagne to soothe my nerves," she retorted.

"On my tab, of course."

"Of course."

Tony turned back to Steve. "You know, Rogers, if you knew I was going to be attacked, a phone call would have been nice. Haven't you figured out the cellphone by now?"

"We didn't expect an attack," Steve explained. "SHIELD knew something was up in Chicago and we knew you were here, so Fury hoped you could help … track the chatter, I think he said. Is that like triangulating a radio signal?"

"Sort of, and sort of not," Tony answered. "Computer messages can bounce around, the way you make your shield ricochet, so it's not simply a matter of triangulation. But the outcome is the same, finding the source of the message."

Steve nodded. "So I just came to persuade you to help us, but someone else must have had the same idea. Bad timing on their part. And now we've collected two prisoners to question, in addition to our resident genius. If you're coming?" he asked anxiously.

"Of course he's coming," Pepper said. "So you put on that nice suit to drag Tony out of the restaurant?"

"It's a disguise," Steve said solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eye. "The red, white and blue can be a disruption sometimes."

"That was very thoughtful of you," Pepper said. "And the suit looks very nice on you."

Steve flexed his muscles. "A little tight around the shoulders, but I wasn't expecting any action."

Carlo returned with a pan of lasagna and a box of side dishes. Steve willingly took the delicious-smelling burden.

"Give Ms. Potts anything she wants. Happy, too. Sorry again, Pep."

"Business comes first," Pepper said. "Now shoo." She knew Natasha would be getting impatient.

As much to piss off Romanoff, as to reward Steve for the save — because he totally didn't need rescuing — Tony told Carlo to remember Steve.

"Anytime he comes in, feed him anything he wants and put it on my tab. Don't worry, I know he eats like a horse. In fact, if you can make him admit he's full, I'll pay double."

"Mr. Stark, you know that's not necessary," Carlo chided, as he reached out to shake Steve's hand. "But I will gladly attempt to fill up your friend."

"I may be in town for a week," Steve said, juggling his packages to take the chef's hand. "If I can, I will gladly accept the challenge. It's been a long time since I felt free to gorge myself."

"We really need to enter you in an eating contest," Tony sighed.

"You'd better go," Pepper pointed out, not wanting Natasha to get angry. Pepper would like to get Tony back in one piece, thank you.

"We're going and taking the food, Sorry, Pep," he gave her a peck on the cheek and then he and Steve disappeared into the darkness.

"Just you and me, Happy," Pepper sighed.

"Like the old days, Ms. Potts," the chauffeur said, reminding her of the time when Pepper was just a secretary.

"I think we'd better get you back to the hotel," Pepper decided, eying the swelling bump on Happy's head. "And I'll drive."

"Yes, ma'am." Happy sighed. "Some bodyguard I turned out to be."

"We're playing out of our league now." Pepper returned the sigh.

Happy eyed the dark shadows and the shapes of people passing on the nearby street. "Do you think we'll have any problem?" he asked, suddenly nervous. "Maybe those guys weren't alone."

Then Pepper was nervous, too, and wondered if the Avengers had made a mistake leaving them alone.

A small object bounced off her toe. She bent to pick it up. It was a blunt arrowhead with a note wrapped around it. The knockout arrowhead was reassuring in itself. The Avengers had left Hawkeye to watch over Stark's friends. The note just said, "Ravioli?" with four question marks.

"Carlo," Pepper called. "Please give me an order of spinach lasagna, a double order of spaghetti with meat sauce (Happy's favorite) and two ravioli samplers to go, with all the sides." The sampler had cheese, beef and butternut squash raviolis, each with a different sauce. The perfect dish for someone who couldn't make up his mind, or who hadn't specified what kind of ravioli he liked.

"Always keep your bodyguards happy," Pepper said with a wise smile.


	22. Last Straw

_A/N: I try to mix these up, a little action, a little humor. This time we're back to angst inspired by an odd, somewhat humorous thought; but little things can be the most traumatic._

* * *

**Last Straw**

In the Assembly Room of Avengers Tower, Natasha Romanoff was indulging in a session of girl talk with Pepper Potts while Tony Stark and Clint Barton pretended to talk sports and manly movies. But the guys' expressions gave them away. They grew ever more horrified, as the women dissected men's characters and, deliberately, grew more outrageous by the second.

The guys were relieved when Jarvis announced the arrival of Captain America. The women were relieved, too, because they were running out of ideas. By common accord, the foursome rose to greet their visitor.

When Steve Rogers in full Captain America regalia stepped out of the elevator, his friends involuntarily took a step backwards. Cap's shoulders were hunched, his muscles as tense as if under attack and the expression on his face was a horrifying mix of rage and grief. Pepper thought he looked like a dragon about to breathe fire.

It was all the more peculiar because Steve hadn't been on a mission. He'd been giving a presentation at an elementary school, but he looked like he'd been to war.

Agents Clint and Natasha automatically placed themselves between their untrained companions and the perceived threat.

The worst part was, they all saw Steve recognize the defensive move — but he didn't stand down. Instead his jaw tightened until they heard his teeth creak.

That made Tony pull Pepper behind him as a second line of defense.

Cap pushed back his cowl with both hands and gripped his blond hair in evident frustration. His eyes scanned the room not wildly but focused, as if looking for the enemy. The others drew together in mutual protection. Finally Steve's gaze homed in on his target — a small, marble-topped end table in the hall.

"Pepper, is this an antique?" His voice was as tight as his shoulders.

"No," Pepper answered, anxiety making her voice a little higher than normal.

"Sentimental value?" Steve asked.

"No," she swallowed and tried to sound conversational. "We had to replace a lot of furniture after Loki. The table was part of a wholesale lot. It's nothing special."

Cap nodded. He removed the vase of flowers and handed it to Clint, then he picked up the small, but well-built table and slammed the marble top into his forehead.

Pepper yelped and Tony winced. The marble top cracked in half. Steve didn't seem to be fazed. Blood trickling from his hairline, he took the two marble pieces and broke them over his knee. Then he clenched his fists. The wood base splintered and the marble crumbled under the super soldier's ferocious grip. Panting with emotion, he dropped the debris in a pile on the floor.

He stepped over the mess and stalked past his friends who skittered out of his way. Steve threw himself down on a barstool, looked over the array of liquor on display and then just folded his arms on the bar top and rested his bleeding forehead on them. Though the others heard nothing, Steve's whole posture said "crying child," which relieved the others' fears. They approached cautiously.

Steve looked up. His cut had already closed but dried blood was smeared between his eyes.

Pepper proved she was just as much a superhero as the others. She put her arms around the distraught man who could break her in half. "Steve, what's wrong?" she asked in genuine concern.

"Sometimes it's just too much," Steve said in a broken voice. "I just want to go home."

They all knew he meant back to the 1940s, to the world he understood.

He raised his eyes to his friends. "Now the Dodgers have moved to Los Angeles. People take photos with their phones and Kodak goes bankrupt. Mail is electronic and, instead of a cup of Joe, coffee is a soy caramel macchiato with no whip." In his distress, he absently picked up a dishtowel on the bar and began twisting it, tearing it into shreds without meaning to. "And I understand that. Really. That's all progress and fashion. But, I don't understand," he begged his friends. "How did we lose a planet?"

The question was so far outside anything Clint had expected, that he couldn't restrain a snicker.

Steve's eyes snapped to him and the archer flinched from the angry anguish in his friend's face.

"OK, it's stupid," Steve snapped, then his voice wavered into pleading again. "But it … it was the last straw. You know?"

His forehead dropped back to the bar with an audible thud. Clint was instantly at his side to grip his shoulder.

"I know, pal," he said quietly. "It's the little things that hit you like a knife you out of the dark. There was a song my mother played on the piano. Anytime I hear it, I flash back to her and not to the good times, but to the sadness and fear I felt when she died. So, yeah, I think we all understand. And I'm sorry I laughed. I was just surprised."

On Steve's other side, Natasha curled her fingers around the captain's clenched fist. "You know I'm from Russia. When Clint recruited me …"

Clint smirked, because "recruited" was such an inadequate word for what they'd gone through.

"… when I moved here, it was a culture shock. I know there are times I miss the foods I ate as a child, the music I heard in the streets. I can find my past in New York, Steve. I know you can, too. There are buildings and restaurants and festivals that go back to your childhood. New York is your past."

Steve nodded mutely.

"Now, how did planets come up, Steve?" Natasha asked gently.

The captain sighed. "I gave a talk at the school. That was fine. Then the principal wanted to show me around. There were computers everywhere. Five-year-olds writing stories and illustrating them on those tablet things. Eight-year-olds designing robots on computers. All textbooks loaded on laptops for the kids to take home. I just gritted my teeth and smiled and nodded and told the robot designers to apply to Stark Industries in a couple of years. Then we got to a science class where first graders were learning about the solar system. It was the first thing that seemed familiar," Steve said plaintively. "The teacher asked the kids how many planets there are and I knew that. I thought, nine! When the boy raised his hand and answered 'eight,' I felt sorry for him — until the teacher said, 'very good' and asked the class to name the planets. But I couldn't hear any more, just this roaring noise in my head like I was going to pass out. I told the principal I had to leave, to meet with the Avengers and then I came here." He looked guiltily at the fragments of table by the elevator, at the shreds of towel between his fingers. "I shouldn't have come," he said almost in a whisper. "I should have gone home, smashed up my own things."

But he'd told the principal he was going to the Avengers, so he did, because he didn't like to lie. His friends understood that.

Pepper hugged him again. "No, you shouldn't have gone home," she said firmly. "You should always come to us when you're this upset. You shouldn't be alone."

Steve drew comfort from Pepper's embrace. He looked at Tony. "How did we lose a planet?" he asked plaintively.

"We didn't," Tony answered. "Pluto is right where it's always been. It was just recategorized as a dwarf planet within the Kuiper belt."

Steve's fierce look froze the words in Tony's mouth. The man out of time was not in the mood for mockery.

Tony held up his hands to stop any outburst. "Hey, it wasn't me! I didn't downgrade Pluto. In fact, I sent a sternly worded letter to the scientists involved."

Natasha snorted. "That one made it into your SHIELD files, the one where every fourth word was …" She gave a sidelong look at Steve and amended her quotation, "a profanity and every fifth word was 'stupid.'"

"Basically, Pluto was demoted, Steve," Clint said, ignoring Tony and Natasha.

Steve sighed. "I remember when Pluto was discovered," he said dismally. "Even planets from my time are out-of-date. Nothing's left from the world I knew." He looked again at the far ranging display of liquor bottles behind Tony's bar.

"Sometimes I really wish I could get drunk."

"You don't need alcohol," Pepper said. "You need chocolate, every woman's comfort in times of stress."

"Not just women," Natasha said, smirking at her partner. But Clint just grinned at a sudden, brilliant idea.

"I know just what you need," he vowed, and jogged off to his room to raid his personal stash of candy.

There were several awkward moments of silence until Clint came barreling back from his suite. He set two flat rectangles in front of the super soldier who touched the chocolate brown paper with one finger and traced the word Hershey's.

"If you don't like Hershey bars, I've got Baby Ruths and M&Ms. And I know someone who usually has Milky Ways or Snickers hidden away," Clint glanced sidelong at his SHIELD partner.

Steve was too choked up to speak, so Clint kept talking. "It's funny how many food brands go back before the war. Campbell's Soup. Kellogg's Corn Flakes and Rice Krispies, Wheaties, Cheerios…"

"I beg your pardon, Agent Barton, but the Cheerios name was not used until 1945. However Captain Rogers might know the cereal by the CheeriOats name," Jarvis interjected.

"Keep him straight, Jarvis," Natasha teased. "It's not just food, Steve. Look around New York — the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Brooklyn Bridge, the Empire State Building …"

"The Statue of Liberty," everyone chorused, drawing a watery smile from Captain America.

"There's Chevrolet and Ford, Stanley Tools and Black & Decker," Tony the engineer said, talking about what he knew best. "Oh, and Tinker Toys and Erector Sets." He gave Pepper a sly glance. "Not to mention Jack Daniels, Chivas Regal …"

Pepper cut him off. "Brooks Brothers, Sears, Macys … Tiffany's," the recreational shopper shot back at him. Tony staggered back from the jewelry jab, clutching his chest as if wounded by a jeweled dagger.

Everyone laughed, even Steve. Tony aimed his staggering feet toward the refrigerator behind the bar and pulled out a six-pack of small, rattling bottles. He pulled out one, popped off the red bottle cap and handed Steve the blue-green tinted bottle with its hourglass figure. He passed out more bottles of Coca-Cola to the others.

"Cheers." Tony tilted his bottle toward Steve who clinked the rim of his bottle with Tony's. They swallowed Coke together.

Then Steve opened a candy bar, broke the pieces apart and shared them with the others. Teammates — that's where past and present came together, Steve realized.

He raised his bottle in a toast. "To friends."

"To friends," the others agreed and the rims of the bottles came together in a musical jingle.

* * *

_A/N: Yes, within my 90-year-old mother's lifetime, Pluto was discovered, celebrated and finally demoted._


	23. Boom!

_A/N: Just a short chapter this time, but packed with "explosive" action._

**Boom!**

When Captain America saw the supergrenade arcing through the air toward his team, he had a flashback to his days in basic training. Yelling "grenade!" Cap threw himself on top of the explosive to protect his friends.

Two things were different from when skinny Steve Rogers did it. This grenade was not a dummy and Captain America had a shield. He clamped the vibranium dome like a pot lid over the softball-sized grenade. The super soldier grabbed Hawkeye — the closest Avenger — by the back of his flak vest and threw him flailing into the bare branches of a nearby tree. Though shocked by the sudden change of perspective, Clint's circus training allowed him to catch a branch and hang on.

At the same time, Jarvis blasted Iron Man off the ground, the artificial intelligence reacting faster than faster than Tony could. On full autopilot, the suit scooped Black Widow off her feet and jetted skyward, while Cap crouched on top of his shield like a frog to keep his toes out of blast range.

Hulk landed beside his team just as they all flew away. He watched puzzled, then looked down at Cap huddled on the ground.

"Hulk, jump!" Cap shouted, but the blast drowned his words.

The supergrenade launched Cap straight up as if rocket propelled. The blast shooting out from beneath the shield cut Hulk's feet from beneath him, then tumbled the green guy across the pavement. Anyone else would have been killed but Hulk was incredibly durable. He bounced to his feet with an angry roar.

The blast sliced at the base of Clint's tree, but he'd had a second to prepare. He fired a grappling hook arrow at a distant window ledge and swung safely away from the toppling elm.

Though the main force of the blast cut along the ground, the turbulence reached upward, tumbling Iron Man and Black Widow like a load in a clothes dryer. With his hands occupied, Tony had to fight to balance himself with just his boot jets and flaps. He couldn't help when Steve rocketed past.

He saw Cap flying, flailing, rolling to get his shield above him as he reached the peak of his trajectory and began to drop. The shield wasn't much of a parachute, but it would slow his fall slightly, enough for the super soldier to survive it, though Steve braced himself for two broken legs.

Hulk realized that Cap didn't fly. He bounded over to catch the falling soldier, cradling the Avengers' leader in his arms like a baby or a bride. It was undignified, but, under the circumstances, Steve didn't mind.

"Cap bad flier," Hulk said severely.

"The explosion threw me up in the air," Steve explained. "Thanks for the catch."

"Bad boom tried to hurt Cap. Hurt Hulk." He stood Steve on his feet and showed him the burns on his ankles.

"Bad boom came from tank," Cap said, pointing.

They looked in time to see another supergrenade arcing toward them.

"Bad boom," Hulk said with disapproval. He didn't like tanks.

Hulk caught the ball and fired it back. Steve the baseball fan didn't think much of Hulk's pitching technique, but he couldn't fault the results. The hurtling grenade punched a hole in the tank's armor plate and then exploded. The tank disintegrated. Little bits of armor plate rained down as Iron Man landed beside his friends and set Natasha down.

"Good boom," Hulk said with satisfaction.


	24. Steve Buck Rogers

_A/N: Just another weird thought that evolved into an Avengers story._

**Steve "Buck" Rogers**

On his way to the kitchen, Tony Stark detoured to the library, following the sound of voices — Steve, Clint and Natasha. Steve's voice had that effervescent tone — as if he was barely preventing a laugh from bubbling out — that his teammates only heard when he was talking about his art classes at community college. Hanging out with college students seemed to bring out the youthful exuberance of the Avengers' focused, driven, sometimes haunted leader.

It was always good to see Steve recapturing the youth that had been stolen by a Great Depression and a World War and 70 years frozen in the arctic. Tony couldn't resist relishing a sample of kid Cap. (And, OK, that sounded more prurient in his head than he meant it to.)

"What do you think?" Steve asked.

"I can get a wig like this," Natasha decided. "But what about the clothes?"

"I can make them," Steve answered.

"Wait, you can sew, too?" Clint exclaimed.

"I grew up during the Great Depression," Steve reminded his friend. "Everybody had to work to help out and I couldn't do heavy labor like the other boys."

"So you did women's work," Natasha teased.

"I did housework," Steve agreed. "I did a lot of sewing and mending because I was good with my hands." That was the artist in him, the Avengers knew. "And I did some of the simple office work because I knew my way around a typewriter."

"So domestic," Clint mocked in a friendly way.

Steve's laughed bubbled out. "Anyway, these are my art and design classmates. They expected me to do a lot of the work myself."

"OK, Steve," Clint decided. "You have my permission to take my partner on a date. Wish I wasn't going to be on a mission," he said wistfully. "We could go as a threesome. I could be Dr. Zarkov."

"No, that's Flash Gordon," Steve corrected. "I'm going as Buck Rogers. Natasha will be Wilma Deering. Based on Yager's drawings, because he was the best."

"You're going to a costume party?" Tony asked, as he entered the library.

"Part party, part project," Steve answered. "We have to base our costumes on something that's drawn. One guy's going to do one of Dali's melting clocks. I don't know how he's going to wear that," Steve said dubiously. "At least two other people are doing comic strips, so this is good."

Clint chortled. "Buck Rogers. I can't believe it. It's the perfect in-joke!"

"Why? Because of the name?" Tony asked.

"They'll think it's just the name, but the whole story…" Clint laughed, Steve grinned and even Natasha smiled.

Tony just looked puzzled. Steve was delighted.

"He doesn't know, Clint!"

"What, Tony, you never saw the Gil Gerard TV show?" the archer asked.

"Must have missed that one." Tony rubbed his neck. He felt at a disadvantage and he never liked that.

Steve closed the book of classic comic strips that he'd been showing Clint and Natasha. "It's a pop culture reference, Tony. Look it up," Steve teased. "Jarvis, don't help him. He needs the practice." Which was something Tony had said dozens of times about Steve.

The other Avengers escaped the library, leaving Tony mildly fuming at being hoist with his own petard. "Jarvis."

"It would hardly be sporting, sir," the artificial intelligence chided — though if Tony had given Jarvis an order, the computer would have complied.

"All right, not like I've forgotten how to Google," Tony grumbled. " 'He needs practice'!"

Tony opened a drop-leaf desk and tapped a keyboard inside. A hidden monitor slid down from the ceiling and a search engine screen appeared.

Buck Rogers, first a pulp story by Nolan, then the comic strip — the first science fiction comic strip, that was interesting. Finally, Tony got to the character's backstory — and the genius billionaire began to laugh. Buck Rogers was a soldier. After WWI he was trapped in a mine where mysterious gas put him into suspended animation for 400 years. He woke to a future where his fighting skills were needed to defend what was left of America."

Tony laughed until tears ran from his eyes. Clint was right. As a costume, it was the perfect in-joke and the Avengers were the only ones who would get it.

And then he smiled a different sort of smile entirely, thinking how good it was that Steve could laugh about his temporal dislocation. The man out of time was adapting. He deserved a reward for that.

"If Steve is going to make the costumes, maybe I can contribute to the props," Tony said aloud. He looked at an image of the comic strip with a hand weapon displayed. "Fire up the injection molder, Jarvis. We're going to make a disintegrator ray gun."

"A working model, sir?" the AI asked cautiously.

For a moment — just a moment — Tony seriously considered it, but Steve would never be able to explain it to his friends. (And Captain America would not be amused.) (Though Black Widow would love it.) "No, just a toy," Tony said regretfully. "But an awesome toy."

"That goes without saying, sir."

* * *

_A/N: With the soldier revived from suspended animation motif (and a sidekick named Bucky), I would think that Cap was a takeoff on Buck, except Captain America was created in 1941 as a patriotic superhero. The suspended animation came much later in 1964. So the similarity of names is just a coincidence … or serendipity._

_Just so you know, life is all work work work right now and the only fun I have is reading reviews. Help me keep my sanity!_


	25. Unblemished

_A/N: Sorry for the late post. RL's been a PITA today._

**Unblemished**

Steve Rogers was working on agility training. Boxing had been great when he was fighting Nazis, but even a Super Soldier couldn't go toe-to-toe with aliens, monsters and 20-foot-tall robots; so Steve upped his training in gymnastics and added something called parkour that Clint Barton had told him about.

"You already do it, Cap," he'd said. "This is just a new name and a system of training."

With Clint coaching now, Steve was combining parkour and gymnastics, using the gymnastics equipment as obstacles as he bounced, leaped and somersaulted his way around the gym.

He finished his assigned circuit and halted in front of his coach, slightly flushed and sweating like a horse but not even breathing heavy.

"I swear you have photographic muscle memory," Clint said, shaking his head in admiring disbelief. "You do it once and your body just doesn't forget."

"It's not that easy," Steve laughed. "That's why I have to practice. Do we have time for one more?"

Clint agreed. He and Steve rearranged a couple of apparatus into different obstacles. Clint assigned Cap his mission — under this, over that, three times around the gym.

Steve's white cotton T-shirt was nearly transparent, sodden with sweat. It clung to his biceps uncomfortable when he raised his arms to start. Making a face of distaste, he pulled it off and tossed it on his gym bag, then moved to his starting point, waiting for his coach's signal.

Hardly a foot away, Clint got a good look at Steve's bare chest and ripped abs and then, when Steve turned to take his place, an equally close-up view of the rippling muscles across his bare back.

Clint felt a stirring of envy that had nothing to do with Steve's impressive muscles. He signaled his friend to start, and couldn't take his eyes off him when he set off, moving with feline grace and power.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were ogling our young captain. Admiring those rippling muscles." Tony Stark spoke the mocking words as he came up behind Clint and set down his gym bag.

The archer flexed his own powerful biceps and laughed darkly. "It's not the muscles, Stark, it's the skin. Look at him," Clint said quietly, so Steve wouldn't hear. "All the battles he's been in, all the wounds he's taken, a nearly fatal plane crash — but his skin is unblemished, unscarred. Wouldn't it be nice to heal like that? If all your scars went away?" Clint said wistfully.

He cupped his hand around his left shoulder, fingers probing under his vest to massage a ridge of scar tissue near his shoulder blade. It was just one of several discolored lines, lumpy ridges and puckered holes on his body.

Tony's hand automatically drifted to the arc reactor in the center of the huge circular scar on his chest. It was his biggest, most visible scar, but not the only one he had.

Lost in memories of pain, the two men didn't notice Steve complete his circuit. Cap finished with a tumbling pass. His friends totally missed his beautiful layout front somersault off the springboard but they reacted instinctively to the body dropping from the sky beside them.

Tony brought up one arm defensively, stepping backwards and almost tripping over his bag. Clint whipped a knife from behind his neck and struck at the attacker.

Steve saw his mistake instantly. One hand snapped out to steady Tony before he could fall. The other forearm blocked the knife strike. Still on autopilot, Clint pulled back the knife, slashing at the blocking arm, but realized in that moment who he was attacking. His quick reflexes allowed him to turn the blade while Steve's serum-enhanced speed let him pull away; so instead of gouging a great chunk out of Steve's arm, the knife nearly missed him entirely. Just the tip scored a line near Steve's wrist.

Blood welled instantly from the cut, but Steve didn't look as concerned as Clint did.

"Damn, Steve! I'm sorry," he said contritely.

"It was my fault. I surprised you," Steve answered. "I didn't realize you weren't watching any more. I thought you were still admiring my flawless complexion," he joked.

His morning runs took him past a makeup billboard with that slogan.

"Damn serum-enhanced super hearing," Tony said, a little breathless from the sudden shock.

"People always forget," Steve agreed with a twinkle in his eye that made Tony wonder uneasily what else Steve might have overheard.

Clint only had eyes for the red drops running down Steve's arm. "We should put a bandage on that," he said.

"No need," Cap assured him. "It's not deep. It will stop in a minute."

Sure enough, as Clint watched, the blood flow slowed, then stopped. Unable to help himself, Clint gripped Steve's arm and wiped away the blood with his thumb. The distinct red line of the cut began to dull and spread, until it was a blurry maroon line that grew more and more pale until it finally blended with Steve's skin tone again. Cap stood placidly the whole time, allowing the other two men to watch the transformation.

In just over a minute, the only sign of the wound was the smear of blood left by Clint's thumb.

Hawkeye rubbed a scab on his neck from a minor sparring mishap two days earlier.

"Wish my scars would disappear like that."

Steve squeezed Clint's shoulder.

"But scars never go away," Steve said seriously. "You know that."

Steve touched his abdomen, where he'd been burned by a Chitauri energy weapon, and his thigh where a healing scar had shed blue flakes every morning until it disappeared entirely — much to Tony's relief. Those were two injuries the Avengers had reason to remember.

Then, as if playing a child's game, Steve touched other parts of his body — left wrist, left forearm, right knee, ribs, small of the back and more — indicating past injuries, Tony and Clint realized. Injuries from the war, they assumed, though the broken wrist and arm were from his days as a human punching bag in Brooklyn. Remembering that, Steve rubbed his knuckles and then his jaw with a wry grin. His worst fight had left him with a broken hand, a bruised jaw and two broken ribs.

"The scars, even the ones from before the serum are gone. The bones I broke before look whole and never broken now, according to the doctors, but I still remember the pain and the frustration from every injury," Steve said.

"Oh!" Tony said in sudden comprehension. "Damn serum-enhanced memory. You can't forget."

"And pain meds don't help you," Clint remembered. "Not now." Maybe the serum enhancements weren't so great after all.

Steve pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. "The only thing I don't remember is the crash, and I think I'm just as happy to not remember."

"I've seen your file," Clint said. "Even the doctors don't know how badly you were hurt, because you heal so well. Judging by the patterns of blood in the ice around you, they think you hit your head, probably fracturing your skull, which is why you couldn't escape. And there are signs of quite a bit of bleeding, but the cold slowed that down and prevented fatal blood loss. And then, whatever happened, your body healed. Slowly, because of the cold, but after 70 years, you were whole again."

They all considered the image of Cap frozen in the Arctic, and all three men shivered. Steve shook the thought away.

"Still envious?" he asked Clint.

Clint clapped him on the shoulder. "Maybe not so much. Just because I can't see the scars doesn't meant they're not still there."

"I can get rid of them here," Steve said, touching his leg. "But I can never get rid of them here." He tapped his skull.

* * *

_Author's Note: We're taking a break from A Very Good Team next Saturday (I need to finish a bunch of stories that are all half done.). I hope to post the first chapter of a three-part Avengers fic "Cerulean St. Cloud." Look for that starting March 30, as long as RL doesn't get in the way. _


	26. Public Displays

_A/N: According to fanfic dot net, "A Very Good Team" has been marked as a favorite by 279 people and has 319 followers — which is awesome! If you missed my regular update for the last three weeks, that's because I was posting a stand-alone Avengers story called "Cerulean St. Cloud." It features this same Avengers team that you are following here. Honest. If you missed Cerulean, just click on the Qweb and scroll down to "Cerulean St. Cloud." If you like Team, I think you'd like Cerulean._

_Just a short chapter this time. There's a longer one in the works for next week._

**Public Displays**

Steve Rogers sat on a sunny bench in a park a few blocks from Avengers Tower. The anonymous superhero ate a peanut butter sandwich and an apple, sipped from a can of Coca-Cola and watched the world go by. He was at peace in this moment that didn't seem so different from the days of his childhood more than 80 years gone by.

Of course, the peace couldn't last for Captain America, even when he was in civilian clothes.

"Tracked you down!" crowed a voice in ominous tones.

Steve rolled his eyes. At least it was Tony Stark and not the supervillain of the week.

"I'd be more impressed if I hadn't told Jarvis where I was going," Steve answered.

Tony threw himself on the bench, lounging, arms spread out, taking up a good two-thirds of the space. "Yeah, what was that all about?" he demanded. He quoted the message, "I'm going to Bryant Park. I'm turning my phone off. I'll be back in an hour. If Captain America is needed, send up a flare — literally."

Steve shrugged. "I wanted to get away from the hustle and bustle and all the technology. And I can see the roof of the tower from here — if you sent up a flare. Anyone else could have taken a hint, Tony."

Tony regarded the scene in the park. Two kids playing Angry Birds on a cellphone. A young mother running, pushing a jogging stroller, listening to her iPod. A businessman apparently talking to himself, his Bluetooth gleaming in his ear. Two men strolling hand-in-hand, kissing occasionally.

Steve's eyes followed the lovers. Tony couldn't read the thoughts behind his friend's blank expression.

"Not much like the old days," the billionaire said slyly. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Shouldn't that be a dollar and a quarter by now," Steve said dryly.

"I can still afford it."

Steve was still watching the gay couple. "I was thinking how free people are now. To show their feelings, I mean. When I was young, holding hands in public wasn't entirely respectable, not even for a married couple."

"What about guys who liked guys?" Tony pressed. "Ever run into that? All that time you spent with the war bond tour. You were practically a showgirl. A showboy. Don't tell me no guy ever hit on you," Tony protested.

Steve rubbed his chin. "There was one," he admitted.

"What did you do to him?" Tony asked avidly.

"I punched him …" Steve answered.

Tony would have admitted to being disappointed. He reminded himself that Cap was from a different time, with different morals, then he realized Steve was still talking.

"…every evening and twice a day on weekends, because of the matinees."

"Uh, what?"

Steve held his expression impassive, but the corners of his eyes crinkled. He had followed Tony's thoughts. "You've seen the films of my shows," he accused. Tony was given to humming "Star Spangled Man With a Plan" at inappropriate moments.

The engineer nodded.

"Benny, the guy who played Hitler? He saw I didn't make a play for the girls so he made a play for me," Steve said. "It was a new one on me — short, skinny Steve hadn't attracted attention from women or men — but I turned him down as politely as I could. The girls set him straight. They were a fast bunch, but they looked out for me like a kid brother. They thought it was sweet that I was saving myself for my girl back home."

"Who didn't exist," Tony said.

"Not back home," Steve agreed. "After I met Peggy … well, she was the only one for me." He sounded inexpressibly unhappy.

"We need to find you a girlfriend," Tony said. There was none of his usual mockery in his voice, only understanding.

"Too soon," Steve said. "It's still too soon."

"I'm giving you a year from the day you defrosted," Tony warned. "That's the accepted period of mourning. Then I'm setting you up on blind dates."

"Would a year be long enough for you to let go of Pepper's memory?" Steve asked quietly, rapping his knuckles on the wooden slat of the bench to drive away bad luck, because he would never ill-wish Pepper.

"Not nearly," Tony confessed. "But I know she wouldn't want me to mourn forever. You ask her. She's the girlfriend of a superhero. Let her represent your Peggy."

"My Peggy," Steve said sadly, because she hadn't really been his until it was too late.

"You missed your opportunity once. Don't let another one pass," Tony warned.

"Yes, mother," Steve answered, a smile finding its way around his sorrow. He might not have a girlfriend, but he did have friends. Steve crumpled his wastepaper and tossed it neatly into a trashcan, then picked up his Coke can for the recycling bin at Avengers Tower.

"Excuse me. Is it OK if I take a picture of you with my daughter?"

A woman accompanied by a 7-year-old girl held up her cellphone by way of explanation.

"Why would you want to do that?" Tony asked suspiciously.

"Because you're Iron Man," the little girl said forthrightly, then added in a whisper. "And he's Captain America."

Surprised, Tony attempted a scornful laugh that didn't even fool a child, who gave him a chiding look in return.

"What makes you say that?" Steve asked cautiously, avoiding an outright lie.

"We were in the bank, when the aliens attacked," the woman explained. She didn't need to say which bank. "We saw them tear your mask off. We've seen you here before but we weren't sure until we saw Mr. Stark, too."

"Busted!" Tony muttered.

"We just wanted to say thank you … and take a picture?" she finished.

"This better not end up on Facebook," Tony said sternly. "Me, I don't care. You can post my picture anywhere. It's be nice to have a little good publicity for a change, but my friend is shy."

"Tony," Steve warned.

"I understand," the woman said hastily. "I wouldn't … you saved our lives"

Tony's mercurial expression switched instantly to his PR smile. "Come up here, honey." He patted the bench and the girl joined the two men who slid closer together for the camera.

After she took a couple of shots of the three and two more of Tony and her daughter (for Facebook), she thanked them and started to leave.

"What will you tell people if they see the photo of blondie here?" Tony asked.

"Tell them you saw Tony Stark pestering an employee who was on his lunch break," Steve said dryly.

Tony brightened with mischief. "My personal trainer." At Steve's disapproving look, Tony said, "What? You're big and buff. You boss me around and try to make me eat disgustingly healthy food and exercise more."

"I try," Steve muttered to the girl who giggled.

"Doesn't that scream 'personal trainer'?" Tony pleaded with the woman.

"I'd say, yes," the woman agreed with a laugh. She thanked them again and started to walk away. Her daughter slipped free and ran back to give Steve a kiss on the cheek.

"There, a new girlfriend already," Tony joked as the ladies left.


	27. Viscous Villain

_A/N: Warning for word abuse. If you suffer from improper spelling, mistaken word-identity or auto spell check bullying, this story may cause flashbacks. If you are seeking help for word abuse, this story may offer some useful tips.__If you read my Five-0 stories as well, this is much the same idea as "Loosing My Mind" but only the Avengers could run across a Viscous Villain._

* * *

**A Viscous Villain**

SHIELD Assistant Director Maria Hill rubbed the bridge of her nose as she read the report for the third time.

The report was riddled with spelling errors, yet the man was usually so diligent. Perhaps he was still struggling with modern computers, or perhaps he had just been tired. The Avengers had returned from Montana very late last night, or rather very early this morning — or so Hill understood. She had been coordinating a mission in Wales at the time. She knew next to nothing about the Avengers' mission and Captain Rogers' mission report only left her more confused.

At least he knew how to spell the agency's acronym, she thought. Hill couldn't believe how many young agents forgot "I before E except after C." And there's no C in SHIELD. Of course, being Captain America he knew shields like the back of his hand, she thought with a smirk.

She looked at the action report again, sighed and asked a junior agent to find Captain Rogers.

* * *

Steve stuck his head in the door. "You sent for me, ma'am?" He was dressed in khakis and a bomber jacket that his upright stance made look like a military uniform, though his red, white and blue shield was a startling incongruity. Hill gestured him inside.

"I'm a little confused by your mission report," she confessed.

A grin flashed across Steve's face. "I can understand that. It was a darn confusing mission," he answered.

"There seem to be an awful lot of typos — well— misused words, actually. I'm not used to seeing that in your reports. Are you handling the computerized system OK?"

"I think I've got the hang of it," Steve said.

"Have you been made aware the dangers of spellcheck, yet?"

Steve made a face. "Yes, ma'am. Every time I type Asgardian, it changes it to Agrarian and quinjet becomes quintet. I keep a watchful eye on it."

"Then, I don't know what happened here," Maria said sympathetically, because, really, who can resist Captain America's honest, earnest blue eyes. "Maybe you were just tired."

"Maybe," Steve agreed. "It was a hard fight then a long flight back to New York with Tony bitching and moaning about dirt clods in his suit. Pardon my French."

Maria smiled back at him because he'd heard a lot worse language out of her mouth and they both knew it. "Dirt clods?"

"Uh huh, the battle took place on an isolated farm that someone had turned into a laboratory. It was out in the middle of a grain field, nothing around for miles. But even grain needs someone to look after it. The farmer who leased the fields noticed something glowing, something that rose up in the air and crashed down like a tidal wave but stayed in the vicinity of the farmhouse. He called the authorities who called SHIELD and our satellites confirmed a sharp, localized spike in gamma radiation that seemed to flow around the farmhouse like a, I don't know, whirlpool, I guess. So SHIELD sent us — because of Dr. Banner."

"That much I understand but then…" She read from the report, " 'Barton landed the quinjet in the field. When we approached the farmhouse, we were attacked by a viscous villain.' I assume that should be vicious villain — 'mean and evil'."

"No ma'am," Steve corrected. " 'Viscous' — 'thick and syrupy,' though he — it — was pretty vicious, too."

"The Avengers fought something that was syrupy?"

"Yes, Tony and Bruce are still trying to figure out what it was, some creature brought from another dimension, Tony thinks."

Hill blinked at Steve's earnest expression. "It was a very strange battle," Steve offered.

Coming from Captain America, the man out of time, that was saying something.

"Um, OK, then here it says, 'The rouge creature sent out a blast of cold air.' "

Steve nodded, listening intently for any problem. "It was like an air conditioner turned on full blast," he said. "I'm sorry to say, that sudden cold made me — well — it made me freeze, but Tony and Clint fired at it and gave me a chance to recover."

"That's good, but I was asking about the 'rouge'? R-o-u-g-e. Did you mean rogue — r-o-g-u-e?"

"No, ma'am. Rouge — a pale pinkish color, like a lady blushing. It was unsettling how much it looked like human skin, but stretchy and sticky and really cold."

Cap's information was answering Hill's questions, but somehow she was growing more confused.

"About the cold — this says 'Agent Barton shuttered in the cold wind then jumped up to the roof where he could get a clear shot at the monster.' Shuttered?" she asked emphasizing the T's. "I was thinking you meant shuddered." She spoke the D's clearly, but with little hope that she was right.

Steve tilted his head at her in confusion. "I didn't notice if he shuddered. He probably did, because the blast of cold air was surprising. But I can see that the 'shuttered' part was unclear. Sorry, I was a little punchy last night. Clint swung on the farmhouse shutters to get momentum to jump to the roof."

He waited while Hill made that correction. She felt a small triumph that the report needed a change, though not the change she'd expected. Then she read, " 'Iron Man blasted the creature with his repulsors. It dove into the field to get away from him and threw dirt and crops into the air. Iron Man escaped barley.'" She looked at the sentence with deep suspicion. "So, a field of grain — I thought you meant Stark barely escaped, but you meant he escaped from the thrown barley."

"Yes, he wasn't hurt but he got grain and dirt in his air intake and some of the joints in the armor, that's why he was complaining on the way back," Steve explained.

"I think I'm beginning to see a pattern here," Hill said, and she wasn't talking about last night's battle! "What's this about the creature throwing your shield?"

"Sometimes it acted like a liquid and sometimes more like elastic," Steve said seriously. "When Clint's explosive arrows blew holes in the creature, it was like digging holes in the ocean. They filled right in. But when I threw my shield, it got stuck and the monster contracted and expelled the shield back at me. Like a rubber band."

"Let me see if I understand. When the creature threw your shield back, you ducked and it ricocheted off the wall almost hitting Dr. Banner who was attempting to enter the building to study the lab you expected to find inside."

"Yes, ma'am. That made the Hulk come out, so we lost our scientist but Hulk made a great distraction ripping into the monster, so Natasha was able to enter the building. She reported finding what was left of a crushed body inside. The notes indicated the scientist was attempting to access another dimension. Apparently he brought the creature into our dimension and it killed him. Tony zoomed into the lab to see what Natasha found, while the rest of us kept the monster busy."

"Then Stark came out and hit the monster with some sort of ray that left it 'unphased,' " Hill read. She spelled the word and added, hopelessly, "I don't suppose you meant 'unfazed,' with an F and a Z?"

"It was that, too," Steve agreed. "The first blasts didn't bother it at all, but finally Tony found the right setting and phased it until it disappeared. Tony thinks he sent it back to its home dimension, though maybe he just sent it off to cause trouble somewhere else."

Hill looked down her nose at Steve in deep suspicion. "Why use the word 'phased' like that?"

"The device was labeled an 'inverse phase modulator,'" Steve explained. "So Tony phased it. We could say he modulated it, if that sounds better?" he added helpfully.

Hill was pretty sure she had this game figured out.

"And then here at the end, it says you found some cloths for Bruce. Because there weren't any 'clothes,' I guess?"

"Not after the quinjet flipped over and caught fire. That was during the battle between the Hulk and the creature. The only clothes in the farmhouse were the ones on the dead body and those were kind of squishy with blood and … well, we found a bag of rags and Bruce made a kind of kilt out of the cloths until the extraction team could get there."

Hill made a couple more notations, then tapped her pen on the desk while she studied Steve. He waited patiently.

"I really don't know what to make of this report, captain," she said finally.

"I tried to be as accurate as possible, given the circumstances, assistant director," he replied with equal formality. "But I can see the report needs some editing, so I'll fix it immediately. If you would care to judge for yourself, both the quinjet and the farmhouse had surveillance systems and SHIELD has downloaded the films."

(It was kind of cute how he could pair "downloaded" with an old-fashioned word like "films.")

"I'll do that," Hill warned. "You're dismissed."

"Thank you, ma'am."

* * *

Hill cued up the recording and watched the short, violent and preposterous battle between the Avengers and the rouge, viscous monster that threw a barley field at Iron Man and wrestled with the Hulk until the Avengers finally phased it out of existence.

* * *

Steve could hear his own voice from the recording as he left Hill's office. In the corridor he found Clint Barton waiting, with his hand outstretched and an earwig in his ear. (Contrary to popular rumor, Hawkeye does not live in the vents. He just visits, to plant listening devices.)

Steve gave an ostentatious sigh and handed over a $20 bill.

"You'd better get this gambling habit under control," Clint joked, as they began to walk away.

"I ought to know better than to bet against SHIELD agents," Steve admitted. "With all the surveillance equipment you guys have, I could have sworn no one ever read my mission reports."

"There's no such thing as TMI to a spy organization," Clint answered.

From hanging around with Tony Stark, even Steve had learned that TMI meant Too Much Information.

* * *

"Steve."

The men froze when Maria Hill called from her doorway. Now she knew the report was accurate, but the bizarre way it was written still ran up red flags and she wanted Rogers — and now Barton! — to understand that she realized it.

"Were you pulling my leg with this?"

"He couldn't have known who would read the report," Hawkeye parried, letting her know — without admitting anything — that the joke wasn't aimed at her personally. "In fact, he wasn't sure that anyone would read it."

Hill's sharp eyes caught the twenty still in Clint's hand. She nodded full understanding at last.

"Think you can keep up that innocent act, captain?"

"What act, ma'am?" Steve answered innocently.

Hill gave another brisk nod. "Hold off fixing the report. I'm going to ask Sitwell to review last night's action reports. You might be getting another call." Jasper Sitwell had been working with her all night, so he wouldn't know any more about the Avengers' battle than she had.

Steve and Clint grinned at each other, happy to draw another fly into their web of deception. "At your service, ma'am," Steve said.

"Fair warning," Hill said. "Fury might see it at some point."

"No problem," Clint said with a casual wave of the twenty in his hand. "Half of this is his. He's the one who came up with 'shuttering.' "

Hill rolled her eyes. She should have known. "Get out of here, you two, before I loose my temper," she said good-naturedly.

The men chuckled at her sally and went to wait for Sitwell's call.

* * *

_A/N: I've been thinking about the vicious/viscous confusable for a while, but every idea was too contrived. (Yes, even more than this one.) For some reason,__ youwannabekate's rant about breath/breathe in her story "Proof Tony Stark Has a Heart" broke my writer's block on the topic. _


	28. Like Fathers, Like Sons

_A/N: The basic idea of this wanted to be part of "Why Shouldn't They Be Friends," but it kept growing._

**Like Fathers, Like Sons**

Tony Stark couldn't believe he was out of copper pipe. He didn't need much, but he absolutely couldn't do another thing on his project without it. He scrubbed his dark hair with his fingertips.

"Jarvis, didn't you reorder 12 mm copper pipe when we started to get low?" he asked thin air.

"Of course, sir," the artificial intelligence said reproachfully from a speaker in the wall. "But there was an incident."

"Incident?"

"The supplier needed to redirect our shipment for an emergency situation," Jarvis said.

"Emergency?" Tony asked, then wondered when he started parroting his computer.

"Thieves stole pipe from the heating system at a children's hospital in Pittsburgh."

"With a blizzard coming in?" Tony was outraged.

"Indeed, sir."

That certainly fell within the parameters of "emergency" that Tony had built into his master computer. His own project was nothing critical, unlike heat during a blizzard.

"You could have warned me," Tony complained.

"The request came in last night while you and Ms. Potts were incommunicado."

Tony grinned, remembering the night before.

"I sent you an email," Jarvis said.

But Tony had 217 emails this morning and he'd been focused on his project and he trusted Jarvis to tell him about anything important, so…

Tony clapped his hands decisively. "School's out! Someone pulled the fire alarm. Everyone go home." Maybe Pepper was up for a little more incommunicado, Tony thought salaciously.

Jarvis didn't reply. Sometimes understanding his creator was beyond the AI's logic.

* * *

The billionaire genius philanthropist former playboy heard the sound of his true love's voice coming from the Assembly Room. He saw Pepper and Steve sitting side by side, studying a photo album on the coffee table. Clint perched on the back of the couch behind Steve, while Natasha leaned close to Pepper on the other side. Thor and Bruce had pulled up chairs on either side.

All of them were focused on the book on the table. They didn't notice Tony until he spoke.

"Someone call a meeting and forget to text me?" he joked.

If they could have all managed to be as impassive as the two spies, they might have gotten the album out of sight before Tony really noticed it. But Pepper jerked around at Tony's voice, Bruce shrank back and Steve looked as guilty as if he'd been caught making out with Pepper instead of talking about a photo album.

Album.

Son of a bitch! Tony recognized that album. He'd spent some of the best hours of his childhood looking over those photos while his father talked about the people he had known during the war. And, sure enough, there was his father's favorite picture, the one that had awed young Tony — Captain America with his arm draped on Howard Stark's shoulders.

That album represented the peaks and valleys of Tony's relationship with his father, his youthful hero worship — of Dad and Cap — and the crushing feeling of failure and worthlessness when his own accomplishments couldn't earn his father's praise.

The Avengers were the people he trusted most and they'd picked a time when they thought he'd be busy to talk about him and his father.

His friends saw the emotions crash down on him like that wave on Hawaii Five-0. Pepper jumped to her feet, calling his name.

"Pep, how could you? And you …!" his angry gaze focused on Steve who covered his head with his hands as if to ward off a blow.

"Don't blame Steve," Pepper said instantly. She ran around the couch, stumbling over Steve's feet. Clint's quick hand steadied her for an instant, then she ran to Tony before he could run away. "It was my idea. I wanted to find out more about your father. I asked Steve."

Tony waved at the rest of the Avengers. "And so you gathered an audience to talk about me behind my back?"

Natasha thought Pepper needed a little backup, so she snorted loudly, "We weren't invited, Stark. We're eavesdropping."

Clint followed her lead with his usual impeccable timing. "Yeah, spies …" His finger flicked back and forth indicating himself and Natasha. "… scientist…" He pointed at Bruce. "Snooping is part of the job description."

Then all eyes turned to Thor who was baffled by the emotional storm. Of all the Avengers, he was least familiar with Tony's daddy issues. From the events leading up to the Chitauri attack, he knew about Howard Stark's connection to Captain America and to the Tesseract. He didn't know that Tony and his father had been estranged.

"Storytelling is an art on Asgard," Thor explained. "I can never resist a good story well told. I do not understand where we have offended," he ventured. "No one has said an ill word about you or your father."

"My father never cared half as much about me as he did about Captain America. I could never make him happy no matter what I tried. He was a shitty father and I don't need to hear his favorite science project extolling Howard's virtues."

Steve flinched again, but Pepper got right in Tony's face, though her words were gently said. "That's why I brought out the album when I thought you were otherwise occupied."

"Behind my back," Tony accused again.

Pepper's lip twitched, as if sharing a joke. "I prefer to think of it as sparing you from onerous duties, like going to shareholders' meetings, filing paperwork and attending the Board's 'summer soiree.'"

OK, Tony couldn't resist a smile when he heard the stupid name of the annual brunch meeting.

Pepper touched her fingertips to his shoulders and rubbed circles with her thumbs on his collarbones. "I only meant to protect you, Tony. That's all I ever want to do."

And Tony couldn't resist when she looked deep into his eyes. But he was still mad, right? OK, maybe not as much.

"Where'd you find that old thing, anyway?" he asked. "I thought it had gotten lost years ago."

Steve and Bruce looked relieved, because Tony sounded more like himself.

"I found it in the back of a filing cabinet when I was cleaning out old files when I was your secretary," Pepper said. "You told me to burn it, but I couldn't. I thought you might want it some day, so I put it back in the filing cabinet. I knew you'd never find it there," she said ironically.

He made a face at her.

"But now that we're … together, I wanted to know more about the monster in your closet," Pepper said.

"So to find out about old history, you went to the epitome of old history himself," Tony gestured at Steve, who immediately felt better. If Tony was insulting him, things were getting back to normal.

"The question is, Stark. Do you want to join us?" Natasha said coolly, but with a smile. "Or shall we continue to talk about you behind your back."

She slid over on the couch, making more space between herself and Steve. And how could Tony decline the chance to sit between Pepper and Natasha. He took Pepper's hand and, without moving himself, guided her around the couch to her place beside Steve; then he vaulted over the back of the couch to crash crassly between the two women.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but allowed him to assert himself to save face. His moment of bravado evaporated, however, when he regarded the now closed album. He rubbed his hands nervously on his jeans.

"Whenever you're ready, Tony," Steve said, recognizing his friend's hesitation.

"I need a minute," Tony admitted. "Tell me … tell me about your father first."

"My father?" Steve was surprised.

"Yeah, I know about everyone else's crappy childhood. What about yours?"

Bruce and Clint had had abusive fathers. Natasha had few memories of her childhood and couldn't be sure any of them were true, thanks to Red Room brainwashing. And Tony had been sadly neglected by a man Steve had called a friend. But Steve's childhood had ended so long ago — even subjectively — that he didn't think about it much. His childhood had been happy, but cut short by the Great Depression.

"I apologize in advance. I have happy memories of my parents," Steve said — but his eyes were sad. "Just not as many of them as I'd like."

"What did your father do?" Clint asked.

Steve gave a small smile. "My father was a soldier," he said.

* * *

Tony rolled his eyes and Steve shrugged. "It's part of why I wanted to enlist so bad," he explained. "My father served the Great War, what we now call World War I, and died of mustard gas poisoning."

"During the war?" Clint said skeptically. "That would make you older than you look."

Everyone laughed (because Steve was a lot older than he looked) and Tony reached around Steve to poke the archer with a derisive finger.

"Oh shut it, Stark," Clint said, pretending to sulk. "You know what I meant."

"I do not," Thor confessed.

"World War I was fought from 1914 to 1918," Steve explained. "I was born in 1922. So my father came home from the war and lived 11 years after being gassed, but he was never the same. He had been tall and strong…"

"Erskine's serum had to latch onto something in your genome to give you that physique," Bruce commented, getting a nod from Tony and a shrug from Steve.

"But after the war my father's scarred lungs made every breath torture," Steve said sadly. "His face and left arm were also scarred by the gas. He was prone to illness and had to be careful in the cold. He lost a great deal of weight and stood stooped as if an old man, though he was barely 30 when he died. My mother had been a nurse during the war. After the war, she nursed her husband. He always said it was thanks to her care he lived so long with scarred lungs. Many did not."

"So sad," Pepper murmured.

"It wasn't all sad," Steve reminded her. "He had a wife who loved him and believed in 'for better, for worse, in sickness and in health,' though my father said he was sorry she got more 'worse' and more 'sickness' than otherwise. My father had been a construction worker before the war, but couldn't do such heavy work after. He found an office job with a stockbroker."

"Oh oh," Tony said.

"Don't get ahead of the story," Steve chided. "The 1920s were a prosperous time. Despite his handicap, my father could support his wife. She no longer worked as a nurse except out of charity for neighbors or friends who needed help. He had an understanding boss who was willing to let the paperwork wait when my father had a bad day. My parents did well."

"And soon they were blessed with a son," Natasha said.

"My father was afraid he wouldn't be able to run and play with his child, but he got the perfect son for him — sickly, wheezing, asthmatic." Steve said it matter-of-factly, with no trace of self-pity. "Instead of running and playing, we read together and drew pictures and played board games. He told me stories of the war, about the pain, but also about the pride he felt defending his country.

"Now my poor mother had two invalids to take care of, but she did it with love and we were happy in our poverty. And then came October 1929."

Thor was the only one who didn't understand. Bruce gave him a quick rundown of World War I, the Roaring 20s, the stock market crash and the Great Depression. Thor nodded understanding of the general flow of events and Steve continued.

"My father lost his job when his kindly stock broker threw himself out of a 15-story window. The only job my father could find was with an old army friend, carrying supplies for construction workers. It was more strenuous work than his body could tolerate. He caught pneumonia in bad weather and died unable to catch his breath, not even able to say goodbye except with his eyes." Steve paused, his eyes lost in the distant past. "I was seven." He paused again and sighed. "Until I met Dr. Erskine, I thought that would be my death, clawing futilely for my last breath."

"What happened to your mother?" Tony asked.

Steve opened his mouth to answer, then shook his head and smiled. "No, we were talking about fathers. We were talking about Howard Stark."

"Well, I tried," Tony muttered, but he smiled and didn't seem quite so tense as before.

"Tell me about your father, Tony. What did Howard do to make you hate him?" Steve asked.

Tony dropped his eyes.

"That's the problem, isn't it?" the ever-observant Natasha Romanoff said kindly.

"You mean, you didn't hate your father?" Bruce asked. Bruce's abusive father had been a monster. Hate was an insipid word for what the scientist felt.

"No," Tony said hoarsely. "That's what hurt so much. I loved him. I wanted him to be proud of me and he never was. He never hit me, didn't even yell at me much, but he ignored me a lot and was coldly disappointed with everything I did to impress him. And I tried so hard to impress him."

"Was he always like that?" Pepper asked.

"No, when I was little he spent a lot of time with me," Tony remembered. "I mean, he was gone a lot, building the business, helping found SHIELD, looking for Cap, but when he was home, he played with me. We built things together. We built a motorcycle together when I was six," Tony said proudly.

Tony touched the picture of Steve and Howard during the war. "He told me stories about Captain America and his friends during the war. I was so proud. My father knew Captain America!"

Steve ducked his head in embarrassment.

"Dad let me take this photo to school for show and tell. That's how this corner got torn. One of the bigger kids grabbed it, but the teacher rescued it for me. Dad wasn't even mad. We were pals."

"I suppose you were one of the smaller kids in school," Bruce commented. "Skipping so many grades, I mean."

Tony nodded and Steve laughed.

"It's hard to believe we thought we didn't have anything in common when we first met. I was always the smallest kid in class but I could never keep my mouth shut when I saw bullies picking on younger kids, so I got beat up a lot."

Tony hadn't said anything about having a big mouth, but knowing Tony, that was a given. He smirked at his blond friend.

"I only got beat up once," Tony said. "Then I paid a couple of the biggest boys to be my bodyguards."

His audience laughed and Tony shrugged. "I was the smallest kid in class because I was the smartest. I just used those smarts." His face fell. "My Dad didn't appreciate those smarts. I built Dummy when I was a kid, but Dad just pointed out all the flaws. I graduated from MIT when I was 17…"

"That's the age most students start," Bruce told Thor.

"… but Dad didn't even come to the ceremony," Tony finished.

"When did he change?" Clint said.

Tony had been thumbing through the photo album. It started with his father's adventures during the war, then moved on. Everyone could see the pride in Howard's eyes at his wedding and when he held his newborn son. There were many photos of the happy family — Howard, Maria and little Tony. Lots of pictures showed Howard and Tony working on some project. Pepper's favorite showed kindergarten-aged Tony sitting on his father's shoulders to finish off the top of an Erector Set skyscraper.

Tony obviously knew the album well. He came to a picture of his mother in an Easter dress, but hesitated to turn the page.

"Something wrong?" Clint asked.

"Don't want to give Steve a swelled head," Tony said. "This was the best day of my childhood."

He turned the page and everyone laughed to see young Tony dressed as Captain America. He and his father were posing together, obviously imitating the picture of Howard and Cap.

"This was my eighth birthday. The best day of my life," Tony said. "We had a great time. My Dad was so excited. He said he had a new idea for a way to find Cap and he wouldn't be leaving town for a while, so we could spend more time together. He promised me a trip to the natural history museum. He never made good on the promise. That was the day, Clint. That was the day things changed. After that, Dad was home more, but he seemed distracted. He'd snap that he didn't have time for my childish games. He was different." There was a bewildered, childish note in Tony's voice as he remembered his youthful disappointment.

"What was Howard like when you knew him, Steve?" Pepper asked.

"I was busy fighting a war. Never thought about what kind of father Howard Stark would make. But if I had…" Steve hesitated, swallowed, and then bravely continued. "… I would have thought he'd make a good one. He was kind to the big oaf from Brooklyn who didn't know anything about the world, society, women …" He quirked a smile. "Or even what fondue was. He explained things without making fun of me or calling me names." Steve gave Tony a sly glance that made the others laughed. Tony responded with a half-hearted "who me?" look.

"Howard was always flying off to get supplies for his experiments and he never failed to bring back something for the men — fresh fruits and vegetables …" Steve closed his eyes at a memory that still made his mouth water. "…fresh bread still warm. I don't know how he managed that." Steve sighed. "I can't understand what happened to make that kind and thoughtful man turn into such a neglectful, self-centered father."

"But is it not obvious?" Thor's deep voice made everyone jump, even though he spoke quietly. He'd been sitting leaning forward in his chair, hands folded between his knees, as attentive as a diligent schoolboy. He hadn't said a word, so they'd almost forgotten he was there. But he'd been paying attention.

Receiving blank looks in answer to his question, Thor continued, "Perhaps it is only that I am from Asgard and I more readily see the possibility of magic."

Clint still didn't understand, but felt a sickness in the pit of his stomach at the mention of magic. Natasha sensed his uneasiness and put her hand over his.

"Still not following you, big guy," Tony said with wary hope. Could Thor answer a question that had darkened all of Tony's childhood.

"What happened between the time Steve Rogers crashed in the ice and the time of Tony Stark's eighth birthday?" Thor asked. "What touched Howard Stark in that time? Or, rather, what did he touch?"

Putting that time frame together with the mention of magic made Tony's eyes narrow and Steve's widen.

"The Tesseract!" Bruce exclaimed.

Thor nodded. "It is a force for discord, as we saw with the scepter, which carries only a fraction of the Tesseract's full power. It could easily poison a man's thoughts."

"And they didn't know shit about shielding in those days," Tony muttered.

Steve sat forward in excitement. "Tony! When did Howard start using the Tesseract to try to find me?"

"I don't know, but SHIELD will. Jarvis …"

"Down, Stark." Clint had his cellphone out and was pressing a contact button. "Let's try the easy way first. Hey, Jasper," he said into the phone. "Can you tell me when Howard Stark started working with the Tesseract to find Cap — if he did, that is?"

Agent Sitwell began to type a search into his computer, as he asked, "Why?"

"It came up in conversation and I bet Tony I could find out faster than he could hack SHIELD's database. It's not classified, is it?"

"The results of his tests, maybe, but the dates, no." Sitwell rattled off a few relevant dates. Clint thanked him.

"Stark can thank me by not hacking SHIELD today while I'm duty officer."

"I'll sit on him myself," Clint promised. As he put his phone away, he told them when Howard found the cube — a year or so after the end of the war when he was no longer bound by obligations to the military and could fund a search with his own money.

"He turned it over to the Strategic Scientific Reserve, one of the parent organizations of SHIELD, and it stayed in a heavily shielded vault for years until Stark asked to do some tests with it. He thought that the cube might have left a residue of energy in Schmidt's super plane and he could use the Tesseract to find the plane."

"And thereby find Cap," Bruce said.

"When did he start that project?" Tony asked tensely. Everyone leaned forward anticipating the answer.

Clint gave them a date. They could all compare it with the date on the happy birthday photo in the album on Steve's lap. Howard started working with the Tesseract two days after Tony's eighth birthday.

"He worked with it off and on until a week before his death," Clint said.

"It can't be a coincidence, can it?" Tony almost pleaded.

"As scientists, we don't believe in coincidences," Bruce said.

Tony felt light-headed, freed of a burden he'd carried for more than 30 years. It was like finding out his father had been poisoned or had a brain tumor. It still hurt to remember the harsh words between them, but the estrangement wasn't Tony's fault. It wasn't Howard's fault. It sure wasn't Cap's fault.

Steve exuberantly pulled Tony into a hug, squashing a laughing Pepper in between them.

"He wasn't a bad person; he was just sick," Tony said.

"He was sick, and you can't inherit that sickness from him," Pepper added, knowing Tony's deepest fears.

Now, after all those years, Tony could look at his father's face in the album and remember the happy times, instead of the disappointment.

He flipped back and forth between the photo of Howard and Cap, and the one where he and his dad imitated the pose. "You know, I think I'll get copies of these pictures and put them up on the shelf together. And, Pep, think you can find a better place for the album than an old filing cabinet?"

"Yes, Mr. Stark," Pepper answered doing her demure, secretary impersonation. "I'll get right on that." She gave him a lingering kiss, then picked up the album and started for the bedroom.

Tony started after her. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at the Avengers. "Don't wait up, guys. We'll be incommunicado." He chased Pepper out of the room.

"Wait up?" Clint complained. "It's only 11 a.m.!"

* * *

_A/N: I liked young Howard Stark in "Captain America: The First Avenger," so I decided to rehabilitate Tony's father._


	29. Iron Patriot

_A bonus midweek chapter because it's so short. I'm not going to work Iron Man 3 into my continuity because the movie makes it clear that our fics about the Avengers working together after the events of the Avengers movie are all AU. But I did like Rhodey's new color scheme._

**Iron Patriot**

When AIM attacked an Air Force base to steal a new stealth fighter, it was no surprise that Air Force Col. James Rhodes joined the Avengers to defeat the yellow-garbed attackers.

After they were done, the team gathered around Tony Stark's friend to inspect his armor's new paint job. The silver gray War Machine had been rebranded as the red, white and blue Iron Patriot.

Hawkeye snickered. "Iron Patriot, huh? You look like Iron Man and Captain America had a love child."

"Ewww," said Tony, Steve and Rhodey simultaneously.


	30. Technophobia

**Technophobia**

Steve Rogers might have woken up 70 years out of date and he might not understand all the 21st century technology, but he wasn't afraid of it.

Natasha Romanoff was the first to notice that, observant spy that she was.

When she escorted Captain Rogers onto the bridge of the helicarrier, he showed no fear nor any of the awe that newcomers often displayed. Instead, his face lit up like a kid let loose in a candy store.

Bruce Banner noticed it, too, as he slunk around the perimeter of the room filled with far too many gun-toting soldier types.

He envied the man out of time's apparent comfort with the flashy technological array.

"It was like stepping into a Flash Gordon serial," Steve told them with a grin when the subject came up after.

After getting Clint back, after Avengers assembling, after defeating an alien army, after shawarma.

After.

* * *

Tony had already noticed it by then. The captain had showed no hesitation in repairing the complex helicarrier control panel. There were few men who could understand it. Steve just said with exasperated humor, "It seems to run on some form of electricity," as he figuratively rolled up his sleeves and blindly followed Stark's blind instructions.

No, you couldn't say a guy was afraid of technology when he would stick his hand into a sparking, flashing mass of wires carrying enough juice to — well — lift an aircraft carrier a thousand feet into the air.

"But that's what you did in my day," Steve explained with a shrug. "You built your own radios and fixed your own cars and you made do, because you couldn't afford to do anything else. Yeah, the controls looked complicated at first, but all I had to do was follow Tony's instructions."

* * *

Clint didn't notice until after — but he didn't really meet Steve until after.

After shawarma when they were waiting for SHIELD pickup, when Natasha had gone looking for an Ace bandage for his aching knee, Pepper Potts ran into the room clutching her cellphone, keeping her fingers on the image of Tony's face as if that was a lifeline leading her to him. And it worked. She saw him and threw herself into his arms, flinging the phone away in her haste.

Cap saw it flying and fielded it neatly.

"This is what you need, Thor."

The thunder god nodded. "One of the phones of cell. Yes, I saw them on my previous visit. I have a number to use to call my beloved Jane, but … I have never used one of these tiny devices."

"Neither have I, but how hard could it be? Got to be easier than the monstrosity SHIELD put in my apartment," Cap muttered.

Clint considered offering help, but Cap deftly found the phone icon and touched it gingerly, then gently tapped the numbers that Thor recited. He handed it over to the big man.

"Be careful with it," Cap warned. "It belongs to Stark's girlfriend."

"Will she not mind if I use it? My friend Darcy Lewis is most possessive of her tiny devices."

Steve looked at Tony muttering comforting words in Pepper's ear.

"I guess she'll understand that your girlfriend needs reassurance, too," Cap said.

And Pepper had understood, even when she was charged for a lengthy long distance call to Norway. She just shrugged and clutched Tony's hand hard enough to make him wince.

* * *

No, Steve Rogers wasn't afraid of 21st technology. And it's a good thing for Tony Stark that he wasn't.

* * *

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_A/N: Were you expecting a "to be continued"? I considered it._

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**Part 2: Sudden as a Thunderclap**

When Jane Foster called to tell the Avengers that Thor was on his way to New York, the team went to the roof to greet their teammate. Captain America, Hawkeye and Black Widow had been training in the gym, so they were in full gear, weapons, shield and all. Tony Stark and Bruce Banner had come straight from the lab with Bruce in a neat white lab coat and Tony a contrast in scruffiness, wearing jeans torn at the knees and a black AC/DC T-shirt so worn that the arc reactor could plainly be seen through the threadbare cloth.

"Wearing your Sunday best for our visitor, Tony?" Steve Rogers joked.

"If I'd known he was coming I'd've baked a cake, baked a cake, baked a cake," Tony sang, paraphrasing old song lyrics that, alas, were still new to Steve. Cap tilted his head in a query. "No? Drat, I thought that one was from your time," Tony said. "I was busy with suit repairs, Cap. Thor travels fast. It's not like you smelly exercise junkies had a chance to hit the showers before coming up."

"Smelly?" Natasha Romanoff purred dangerously, rotating a knife from finger to finger.

"Smelly as rose petals touched with dew. Smelly as violets at dawn," Tony said smoothly but hastily.

Natasha smirked and slid the knife up her sleeve.

"Nice back-pedaling, Stark," Clint Barton teased.

"I'm told it's good for the health," Tony answered.

"Better than a knife in the ribs," Clint agreed.

"I think he's coming," Bruce broke into the banter. He pointed at a cloud formation that seemed to boil up out of nowhere.

Clint shaded his sharp eyes. "That's him," he confirmed

In a moment all the Avengers could see their teammate flying toward them, towed through the air improbably by his magic war hammer. Thor swooped up as he reached them and dropped down to the roof with surprising lightness.

"Greetings, my friends!" he said boisterously.

He kissed Natasha's hand and hugged the men. Tony saw he took care not to crush the bow and quiver Clint had slung on his back but it wasn't until he heard Thor's hearty backslap resound off Cap's shield that the genius realized his teammates had brought their weapons on purpose, for self-protection. The Asgardian heaved Tony into a bear hug and knocked the wind out of him with a thump between the shoulder blades.

"Next time I totally wear the suit," Tony wheezed.

Thor apologized and spared Banner the backslap, if not the hug.

"I'm sorry. I got carried away. It's been too long since we stood side by side. Are you injured?'

"Nothing that a scotch and soda won't take care of," Tony quipped.

He had to smile — they all did — at seeing how glad Thor was to see them. That was one of the things they'd learned about Thor. He liked to be met when he arrived. It was good manners on Asgard to greet visitors. He appreciated the small courtesy on Midgard and seriously didn't care if you came dressed up, sloppy, smelly or loaded for bear. It was an honor that you were there.

The teammates had barely started to catch up when Clint said, "What the hell?"

A sparkle in the sky had caught the archer's eye. It grew larger, or closer, he couldn't tell which, and resolved as a woman on a flying horse — a gorgeous woman on a beautiful flying horse. Scratch that. A spectacularly stunning woman on an exquisite flying horse. The slender, delicate woman had a heart shaped face and — were those really pointed ears poking out of her remarkable hair? Her long, curling hair seemed white, but shimmered with a rainbow of colors like a soap bubble. It floated behind her, weightless in the still air that had followed Thor's arrival. The Avengers, even Natasha, gaped at the ethereal beauty.

Though not unappreciative of the woman, Tony's attention was drawn to the horse. As it came closer, he could see it wasn't a living creature. It was a ... the only word that came to the engineer's mind was "contrivance." It certainly wasn't a robot, not when it had a framework of carved wood and was sewn from semi-transparent silver cloth that shimmered from the inside as if it was a balloon filled with fireflies. The gracefully shaped horse-doll (?) had a curved neck with a mane of downy white feathers that matched its wavy tail and wings made from fans of long white pinion feathers tipped with gleaming silver.

Woman and horse together were an altogether enthralling sight that brought spectators running to nearby windows and held the Avengers breathless. So it was entirely a shock when Thor greeted the elfin being with a cold, unfriendly, "Elfryda."

His teammates shook themselves out of their trance as the Asgardian continued flatly, "What do you want?"

When Elfryda spoke, her words chimed like silver bells. She smiled sweetly and raised — was that seriously a magic wand? "What I always want, Thor. Your death."

With a flick of her wrist, the wand cast a spear of color at the woefully unprepared Avengers. Thor raised his hammer in defense, but the magic homed in on Mjolnir, flowed down it to wash around Thor, the team and the rooftop, then flashed poisonous green and rushed back into the wand, sucking light and life with it.

Over a roar like a crashing wave and a crackle of electricity, the Avengers heard the beautiful voice taunt, "How does it feel to lose your lightning, thunder god?"

No one lost consciousness exactly, but no one remembered falling on their faces on the roof either, yet that's where they were when the sparking wave receded and full sense returned.

Steve found himself facing Thor, who had borne the brunt of the attack. The Asgardian lay unmoving for a long moment, though Steve felt Clint and Natasha stirring behind him. Then a groan came from Steve's right.

"Guys, a little help here," Tony said breathlessly.

Steve raised himself to hands and knees, shaking his buzzing head, and shifted to see Tony laboriously flip himself on his back. The engineer's breathing was ragged and something else was different. Steve's eyes widened. There was no glow from beneath the T-shirt!

Steve bounced to Tony's side, moving in one swift bound without ever actually getting to his feet. Hoping his eyes were fooling him, he ripped the T-shirt off. But he wasn't wrong. The arc reactor had gone dark.

"Cap?" Tony pleaded.

Steve looked again at Thor, torn seeing two comrades down. But then the Asgardian stirred, sighed heavily and lifted his head. He had an odd expression on his face, weary resignation and exasperated annoyance, but when he saw the dark circle in the center of Tony's chest, the annoyance swelled into a thunderous fury.

"Thor?" Steve said, already gathering Tony into his arms.

"Go," Thor ordered. "Take care of our comrade. I will take care of this."

Elfryda giggled like the trill of a bird. "How does it feel, Odinsson, to see your precious Midgardians fall while you are helpless?"

She flicked her wand hither and yon, sending random lightning bolts sizzling in all directions. Spectators who had flocked to see the pretty lady now ducked away from the windows and took cover, realizing the Avengers were at it again.

It was just as well they hid, Thor thought grimly.

Lightning flashed in his direction. Cap scooped Tony to safety behind the elevator machine room. Thor did likewise for a trembling, half-conscious Banner. Natasha and Clint rolled gracefully into shelter, weapons springing into their hands.

"What do we need to take down this witch?" Natasha asked Thor.

"She has no magic of her own, only devices she has purchased. We need to get her wand to reclaim my lightning and Tony Stark's."

"Tony needs help now," Cap said.

"Spare core. Lab," Tony gasped. He was frightened, but also angry. He could live with the arc reactor dark. If it simply failed — which it wouldn't because he made it, but if it did — he ought to be able to walk calmly to his nearest backup and install it. But Elfryda's lightning had jolted his heart out of rhythm and without the pacemaker powered by the arc reactor, his heartbeat was growing more and more erratic, stealing his strength and making it hard to breathe.

"I know, Tony. I remember," Steve said, gripping his friend's shoulder in comfort.

"Then you take care of him and we will take care of this," Thor said, getting nods from Clint and Natasha.

Tony clawed at Cap's chest.

"Easy, pal," Steve said. "We've got to wait for Thor's diversion or we'll be fried before we reach the stairwell."

But Tony was looking past Cap to Bruce who was hunched over, skin shading green on his hands and neck, shirt straining across shoulder muscles that bunched and twitched wildly.

This was terrifyingly familiar to Natasha, but she proved her courage by putting her hand on Bruce's arm.

"Bruce! Tony's hurt. He needs Bruce, not Hulk!"

"I'm trying!" Bruce growled. The voice was garbled, coming from a throat deformed in midchange. It held the Avengers paralyzed for a moment, until Tony couldn't suppress a breathless cry of pain.

"What's your play, Thor?" the captain demanded.

"I will hold her attention," Thor answered. "Can you steal the wand?"

The SHIELD agents consulted in shorthand-speak and hand gestures. Clint drew his bow with a nod. "We can," Natasha answered. "If you can distract her."

"I can," Thor said grimly. "But you had better plug your ears."

They didn't understand, but they were in full gear with soft foam earplugs in their pockets. (Useful for makeshift firing ranges, demolition practice and sleeping on noisy aircraft.) They stuffed in the earplugs. Cap carefully picked up Tony in a fireman's carry.

Thor nodded and stepped out in full view of Elfryda, who was drawing patterns on nearby buildings with her lightning strikes. She instantly focused on her enemy, sending bolt after bolt at Thor. Mjolnir deflected each bolt back at her — as good a distraction as the other Avengers could ask for.

* * *

Steve ran for the stairwell with Tony over his shoulder. Clint shoved the staggering Banner after them, then deployed to the other side of elevator housing with Natasha. They waited their chance.

* * *

Trying to ignore the sounds of combat behind him, Bruce doggedly followed Steve and Tony down the stairs, fighting himself every step of the way.

* * *

"Why won't you fall?" Elfryda pouted prettily, flinging another stolen lightning bolt at Thor.

"I have been patient with you, Elfryda. More than patient," Thor said dangerously. "I understand your need for vengeance after the tragic deaths of your family — though why you blame me and not the bandits who attacked your village, I know not. But you, of all people, should know I am not the god of lightning." His voice rose in a roar that Clint and Natasha could hear, despite their earplugs. "I am the god of thunder!"

Thor dropped Mjolnir and brought his palms together in a clap — a thunderclap!

Windows shattered on buildings all around the tower. The shockwave almost tumbled Elfryda from her artificial steed when it spun out of control. She cried out — a sound more like a song than a scream — and struggled for command.

Clint gave her a hand. He fired a grappling arrow that drove deep into the horse's wooden keel. The archer hauled on the rope, bringing the lightweight creation closer to the roof — and, incidentally, helping Elfryda stabilize her ride — then Clint tied off the rope on a stanchion.

With perfect faith in her partner, Natasha leaped off the roof, over the chasm and landed, poised as a ballerina, standing on the horse's rump. While Elfryda gawked at her, Natasha plucked the wand from her hand then planted her fist in the beautiful face. Elfryda clutched her nose and squawked — no longer a pretty sound, the spy was vindictively glad to hear. Natasha leaped lightly to the rope that Clint steadied for her and ran back to the roof in two well-placed strides.

Clint slashed the rope, cutting the horse free, as Natasha handed the wand ceremoniously to Thor. He took it with a bow. The flourish finished with the wand flat on the roof. Thor brought Mjolnir down with finesse to smash the wand without smashing the roof. Green light flared into gold, lighting Mjolnir from within. It flowed through the hammer into Thor and flowed through him into the tower.

"Will that fix everything?" Clint asked.

"It will banish the magic that blocks electricity here, but it may not fix all the damage done," Thor answered. They all thought of the dark arc reactor. "Now for Elfryda," Thor said.

The three Avengers turned. Natasha drew her pistol. Clint fitted an arrow to his bow. Thor began to spin his hammer.

Elfryda recognized her failure and yanked on her reins. She and her horse began to dwindle and fade.

The SHIELD agents fired. The arrow went through Elfryda as if she was a ghost. The gunshot also had no effect.

"Lower your weapons, friends. She is already half in another dimension, out of our reach," Thor said.

"I will be back, Odinsson." The musical voice came faintly, but clearly.

"I have no doubt of that," Thor said, and then the vision of lovely vengeance was gone.

* * *

Startled by the thunderclap, Bruce tripped and rolled down two steps to the next landing. He thumped his head against the wall and spent a long moment panting and seeing stars before the dizziness dissolved.

On the plus side, the bump sidelined the Other Guy, so, when Bruce heaved himself to his feet, he could follow Steve more steadily. But the scientist was nowhere near as fast as Captain America.

* * *

Steve took the stairs in bounds, landing once per flight and once per platform. One step, pivot and leap again. Repeat. He stumbled once when the thunderclap echoed down the stairs, but steadied himself with one hand on the railing and continued on.

Cheek resting on Cap's shield, Tony watched the walls fly past. He braced for pain, but Cap's powerful thighs cushioned each landing. Cap burst out the door onto the lab's floor, hoping that the attack hadn't reached that far. Lights came on as Thor returned the tower's electricity, but Jarvis was silent and the palm scanner remained dark when Steve pressed his bare hand to it.

"Right," Cap muttered to himself and Tony. "It's always the hard way."

Going back to the stairwell, he reopened the door, gently laying Tony down as a doorstop.

"Hold that for me," he said, patting his weakening friend on the shoulder. Then he ran up the staircase again.

A joke from Cap, not a bad last memory, Tony thought. His heartbeat was slowing and growing more irregular. He had no strength to move. His vision was graying out at the edges. Not long now, the engineer thought, analytical to the last. Then pounding footsteps drew his eyes back to the stairs.

Cap wasn't leaping down the stairs this time; he was running, legs driving like pistons, increasing speed with every thrust. Olympic long jumpers soar through the air on momentum, but sprinters add to their speed with every step. Sprinters move faster.

Cap passed Tony in a colorful blur, like a Fourth of July rocket. He tucked his head and his shoulder behind his shield and hit the door with a vibranium clang that echoed up the stairs like a second thunderclap.

* * *

In the stairwell, Bruce staggered with his hands over his ears as the noise filled the small space.

* * *

On the roof, Thor recognized the vibranium vibrations.

"The captain's shield!" he exclaimed, then launched himself down the stairs with the two SHIELD agents right behind him.

* * *

The lock held. The door didn't. Cap smashed a jagged, shield-sized hole in the door and crashed to the ground inside the lab.

Tony's hazy vision saw sprinkles of red, white and blue on the floor, like confetti. "Yay?" he wondered. "We having a party?"

Cap leaped to his feet and limped to the cupboard that held the spare arc reactor. It was locked. Impatiently, Cap used his shield to shear off the entire handle and pry the metal door open.

* * *

Bruce reached the lab in time to see Steve pull the dead core out of the arc reactor — Steve, who had blown up his first microwave and put his finger straight through his first touchscreen. But with Tony's life at stake, Steve's artist's fingers were deft and sure. He seated the new core and twisted to lock it in place.

Tony's chest began to glow. The engineer gasped and coughed and coughed some more. Bruce pulled an oxygen tank out of the emergency cupboard — which wouldn't have been locked if Jarvis had been online. Bruce put the mask over Tony's mouth and nose and then rummaged for more equipment. He busied himself listening to Tony's heart and taking his blood pressure — both of which were stabilizing nicely.

The blue tint faded from Tony's lips and healthy color returned to his face. His eyes opened. Roaming the room they landed sadly on his frozen bots. The tired brown eyes rose to study Jarvis' silent speaker, then dropped to the floor to analyze the strange confetti that had stuck in his mind.

As the other Avengers piled through the door, Tony's rebooting brain realized the red, white and blue confetti was sparkling shards of glass, fragments of Cap's blue uniform and spatters of red, red blood.

Tony gasped. His eyes flashed around the room seeing alarm grow on the faces of Bruce, Clint, Natasha and Thor. What he didn't see was Captain America.

"Easy, friend Stark. It is over," Thor offered. "Elfryda has been banished and our power has been retrieved."

Sparks crackled around the head of Mjolnir as he used it to point at the fluorescent lights that burned brightly in the ceiling.

"Where's Cap?" Tony drew a finger through a drop of blood. "He's hurt."

Natasha examined the jagged hole in the door, finding blood on the lower edge. She envisioned the scene.

"He must have torn up his trailing leg when he crashed through," she determined.

"Why did he leave without getting fixed up?" Bruce asked, gesturing at the bandages in the cupboard.

Clint scratched his head as he surveyed the room, trying to put himself in Cap's boots. The archer's eyes fell on the frozen bots. He shook his head. "Cap's not one to sit around when he's got men down." His hand patted Dummy's gripper arm.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut to stymie sudden moisture. Jarvis and the bots were his family. He hadn't realized Steve felt the same.

Natasha followed a trial of blood drops to the stairs. "He's gone down. Where is he going?" she asked.

"Second basement. Backup storage," Tony answered, then cursed his still foggy brain. He'd just told a SHIELD agent the most important thing he didn't want them to know. Steve knew, but if you couldn't trust Captain America, whom could you trust?

"Tony." He looked up sharply, because Natasha hardly ever called him by his first name. "Don't worry. We won't tell Fury."

Clint made a cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die gesture that made Tony roll his eyes, but also smile gratefully.

"We understand," the archer said. "I wouldn't want him to know where my kids went to school, either."

"Thor, could you give Steve a hand?" Tony asked. "The box is heavy and there are a lot of stairs."

"Yes, and our captain is wounded," Thor agreed.

"You can probably catch him in the lobby," Bruce suggested.

Thor nodded and ran up the stairs. Tony gawped after him. "Doesn't he know the basement is downstairs?"

Bruce chuckled. "Obviously your brain isn't up to speed, yet. You've forgotten the Mjolnir express."

Right. Thor would fly off the roof and probably beat Cap to the ground floor, despite Steve's head start.

"Just rest and recharge for a moment," Bruce advised. "Wait until the muscle men come back."

* * *

It was nearly an hour before the Avengers heard voices on the stairs. Thor entered, carrying a big box on his shoulder. His cape was damp with water as was Steve's left shoulder. The captain's pants were shredded at the side of his left knee and calf.

"Sorry it took so long," Steve apologized. "Most of the power is on again, but some of the computerized systems are still down. We had to help some people trapped in the elevators."

"We sent them to explain what happened," Thor added.

"Well, not everything," Steve demurred. "We told them an enemy attack took out the power but you were working on it."

"So much for the reputation of my self-sustaining power supply," Tony mourned. He was still tired, but feeling much better by that time. He set the oxygen aside and sat up. Thor set the box gently on the floor at his feet.

Clint went to help move it closer and was shocked by the weight. The muscular archer could hardly budge it. "What is this?"

"It's an inch-thick steel box lined with two inches of lead. I keep it underwater in an underground vault, lined with six feet of concrete with a steel vault door." Jarvis' backup copy was the most precious thing he owned. The only thing more precious to Tony was Pepper and he didn't own her.

Mind you, there were offsite backups, as well, and Jarvis like a tourist on vacation, in the Cloud but this was the entirely isolated, independent daily backup. This was Jarvis with just one day of amnesia. Tony could live with that.

Natasha shook her head at Tony's multiple precautions against radiation and physical force. She considered saying something about overkill, but held her tongue. She liked Jarvis, too.

"How do you get it out to change it?" Clint wondered.

"I use the suit," Tony said. "Or Captain America."

"You trusted Steve with the combination to the vault?" Bruce asked. He had pushed the unresisting super soldier onto the couch and was checking his injured leg. Long wounds, like claw marks, had scabbed over and were already beginning to heal.

Clint didn't have to wonder about that. "Duh, because he's Captain America."

"No, because he's Steve Rogers," Tony said, drawing a shy smile from the Avengers leader.

* * *

Tony opened the box using an old fashioned combination lock. (Steve could have opened that, too, but he was afraid of damaging the computer drives inside. It was easier — for him — to carry the steel and concrete box up 67 flights of stairs.)

The Avengers watched while Tony removed the largest hard drive in the box and connected it to Jarvis' mainframe. The computer had been working since the power came back on, circulating the air, powering the lights, but it was a soulless machine without Jarvis. Holding his breath, Tony ran the backup.

After a long moment, lights sprang to life all across the mainframe. "Sir?" Jarvis said uncertainly. "My internal memory does not match with the U.S. Naval Observatory master clock or the NIST-F1 Cesium Fountain Clock. What happened?"

"Short form? One of Point Break's old enemies attacked us and blew our power. Recalibrate, would you, while I reactivate the boys."

"Of course, sir."

Tony took smaller drives from the box and rebooted each of the bots — Dummy, You and Butterfingers. As he worked, he asked Thor about Elfryda.

"Was she really an elf?"

"She was indeed from Alfheim," Thor said, as he sat heavily on a stool. "We were friends, once. Her home village was attacked by an army of bandits and they called Asgard for help. We sent an army to assist. The battle was long and loud. The enemy had cannons. Loki used magical explosions. I used my thunderclap. Something caused an avalanche. The village we were trying to protect was destroyed. Elfryda was one of the few to survive. She blamed me and my thunderclap." Thor sighed. "She may be right. I have used it seldom since then. The lightning is easier to control."

Steve clapped his hand on Thor's shoulder and Clint nudged him. "Things happen in battle," the archer said. "Friendly fire is a sad fact of life."

"How long ago was this?" Natasha asked.

Thor frowned thoughtfully. "Time runs differently among the realms, but I would say more than 100 of your years."

"A hundred years?" Tony exclaimed. His work done, he flopped back on the couch with his feet on the table to watch paternally as his bots bumbled around redoing chores they had finished the day before. "I can't believe she's still holding a grudge over something that happened a hundred years ago!"

Steve dropped to the couch beside him, knocking Tony's feet to the side to make room for his own. "Doesn't sound very long to me," joked the man who had been born more than 90 years earlier.

Bruce watched Steve pick up a Starktablet and begin drawing. The artist wondered if he could make a picture of Elfryda that showed her beauty but hinted at the dangerous anger inside her. Steve's ease with the high tech equipment made Bruce smile.

"Tony, you're just lucky that Steve isn't afraid of technology or you would be dead."

Steve looked at Bruce as if he'd grown two heads (neither of them green).

He protested, "Bruce, I volunteered to be a science guinea pig. Why would anybody think I'd be afraid of technology?"

* * *

_A/N: I know, two entirely separate stories, but they insisted they belonged together, even though I wanted to use Thunderclap as a chapter title. Oh well, sometimes the fics have a mind of their own._


	31. Nightmare

_I seem to have a lot of half-finished stories and not much ready to post, so just a short one this time._

**Nightmare**

Drenched in sweat, Steve Rogers moaned in his sleep, his head moving from side to side. His legs twitched restlessly as if he was trying to escape his nightmare.

A silent figure crept into his room. It flitted through the shadows, light glinting momentarily off a knife held in its hand. The other hand reached toward the sleeping soldier. A finger brushed Steve's shoulder. Adapted to sleeping in enemy territory, Steve came awake instantly. His hand shot up, tightening around the intruder's wrist.

"Don't break it, Cap." Natasha Romanoff's voice came out of the darkness. "We don't all heal as fast as you do."

Steve remembered. Avengers tower, 2012. He released his teammate's wrist. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as Natasha clicked on the bedside light. She knelt on the spotlighted bed beside the captain.

"What's the knife for?" Steve asked warily. "SHIELD increase my threat level?"

The agent smiled. "No, I thought I might have to defend myself, if you didn't come out of your nightmare. I wouldn't have hurt you much, nothing you couldn't have healed from," she said practically.

Steve sighed and scrubbed his face, trying to wake himself.

"Do you have a lot of nightmares?" Natasha asked sympathetically.

"Just one," Steve said. "I dream I wake up 70 years in the future and everyone I loved is dead." He lay back and put his left arm across his eyes. "The sad thing is, the nightmare doesn't go away when I wake up," he said bitterly.

Natasha silently put her hand on his knee. After a moment, he lowered his right hand to cover hers.

Natasha was glad Steve didn't ask how she'd heard him through the soundproof doors in Avengers Tower. She and Clint had made a deal with Jarvis to wake one of them if one of their comrades seemed to be in distress. She'd hate for Cap to think she'd gone soft.

"Thanks for the rescue," Steve said, sounding more like himself.

"Anytime, Cap," Natasha answered. "Think you can go back to sleep now?"

Steve nodded. Natasha patted his shoulder and faded back into the darkness. A dim rectangle showed when she opened the door to return to her room, then she was gone as silently as she came.

Steve switched off the lights and rolled on his side to return to slumber.

"And thank you, Jarvis," he said.

"Anytime, captain," the AI replied.

Steve didn't ask Natasha because he didn't have to.

But Steve didn't ask. He didn't need to. The Avengers team leader had made the same request of Jarvis but found he'd been superseded. As it turned out, it was Steve who had needed help, and help had arrived carrying a knife, he thought with a wry smile. The Avengers were a strange sort of family, but family all the same.


	32. Wills and Remembrance

_A/N: Promised you a longer chapter. Another photo album. Another trip down memory lane. Consider this a companion piece for "Like Father. Like Son," chapter 28._

**Wills and Remembrance**

"Steve's in the Assembly Room crying," Bruce announced anxiously.

He entered the kitchen only to stop dead when he found crying inside there, too.

"Did someone die?" he wondered apprehensively.

Arms crossed as he leaned against the refrigerator, Thor looked pensive, his gaze far away. Tony and Pepper leaned against each other for support, regarding objects clenched in their hands. Pepper's eyes were rimmed with red and there were tear streaks on her cheeks. Tony's face held a mix of grief, anger and laughter that was wonderful and terrible to behold. It made the Hulk rumble in the back of Bruce's mind.

Natasha — well, control was a lesson hard learned at an early age. Her face was impassive, but her eyes glinted with moisture. She stood behind Clint, holding his head to her breast. The archer wept without shame, fingering a small, plastic figure that Bruce realized was a Captain America toy. In a box beside Clint's hand, there was a identical toy, this one still in packaging that proclaimed "Captain America with real shield-slinging action!"

Natasha combed Clint's hair with her fingers.

"You knew this day was coming, Clint," she said.

"I thought I was prepared, but it was the note that got me, Nat."

Tony had to clear his throat twice before he could speak. "Sorry, Bruce. Nothing for you. Or you, Thor."

"'Tis no matter," Thor answered. "The Son of Coul could not have known that I would be here."

Oh, someone was dead, Bruce realized, but no one new. He relaxed a bit.

"They settled Coulson's estate today," Natasha explained to the scientist. "He left … He was always diligent about updating his will, because …"

Because … No one needed her to finish that sentence.

"Here, Bruce, I have something for you and Thor," Natasha said. She squeezed Clint's shoulder, then began to rummage in a large box on the floor. "Coulson left me his library. His books and his music. This is just what was in his office, but I remember … Here they are." She brought out two books and handed one to Thor and one to Bruce. "Phil would have wanted you to have them."

Thor's book was "Keeping the Love in a Long Distance Relationship" and Bruce's was "Learning to Trust Yourself."

Clint nodded. "Yeah, Phil would have approved."

"I wish I'd really had a chance to talk to him," Bruce said.

"You two would have gotten along," the archer said. "Phil had a wicked sense of humor that he kept under control the way you control the Hulk."

"He left me his grandmother's ring," Pepper said tearfully.

"And his grandfather's horsewhip," Tony said dryly. "To keep me in line."

Bruce snorted. He couldn't help himself.

Tony laid his own legacies on the table — a Taser and a collection of Supernanny DVDs. The DVD packaging was worn, the label foxed at the edges.

"I thought it was just a threat to keep me in line. He didn't really watch these, did he?" Tony asked plaintively.

"He did." Clint sniffed and wiped his nose on a paper napkin. "He said they gave him ideas for handling misbehaving agents and disruptive consultants."

The agent met the eyes of the consultant and they both gave watery smiles.

Clint turned his eyes back to the box of Captain America cards and action figures.

"I got bored waiting for Coulson in his office one day," he said. "When he finally came, I was playing with this, making it throw its shield at a paper target — it's surprisingly accurate. Phil was appalled. He said, 'that's not a toy, it's a collectible!' And then he left me the collection and this …"

Clint handed Bruce a crumpled note. When he smoothed it out, the scientist read, "Now you can play with them."

"Steve hardly knew Coulson, but he looks awfully upset," Bruce ventured.

"He's mourning more than the loss of his biggest fan," Tony answered heavily.

"Phil left half his collection to me," Clint explained. "The cards and toys and stuff like that, but his real treasures were things that had belonged to Steve before he went into the ice, even before he became Captain America." Clint smiled with sad fondness. "Phil's previous wills had left these things to the Smithsonian, but after they found Cap, Phil changed his will and left them to Steve."

"What kind of things are you talking about?" Bruce asked.

"Steve's family history — his parents' wedding rings, their love letters, the Rogers' family album."

"Coulson kept all that from Steve?"

Clint ducked his head. "He was torn. He told me he should give it back, but he loved that album. The pictures of Steve as a little kid are adorable. And someone added pictures Steve sent from the front — Steve and Bucky and the Howling Commandos. Phil told me many times that it was priceless. Then Cap was resurrected."

"I'm sure he would have given it back," Natasha said. "Once he'd met Steve, after Loki was defeated, but he didn't have the chance."

"So now it's sad enough that all the people in the pictures are dead, but add that it came from Coulson..." Tony sighed and, with an effort, pushed himself away from the table. "Come on, guys. Let's remind Steve that he has friends who are still alive."

* * *

Steve was sitting on the couch with the scrapbook open on the coffee table in front of him. He paged slowly through the bulky volume, stopping occasionally to touch a photo with a careful fingertip.

Natasha and Clint flanked him, sliding close to warm him with their presence, making a Cap sandwich on the couch. Tony and Pepper sat close together on an oversized armchair, with Pepper half on Tony's lap. Bruce perched uncomfortably on a straight-backed chair, setting himself apart from the others who had known Phil, until Tony glared him closer.

Steve raised his head to regard his friends. His cheeks were wet, but his blue eyes were clear as ever. Natasha realized with a touch of envy that this was another example of Cap's quick healing in action.

"There are many women who would like your ability to cry and still look perfect," she said.

"Like me," Pepper sniffled. She dabbed her red eyes, then blew her sore, raw nose on her Kleenex. Bruce silently got a whole box out of a nearby drawer and handed it to her, before pulling his chair closer to his friends.

Pepper gave a wad of tissues to Steve, who blew his own nose and then asked the SHIELD agents, "Do you know where he got this?"

"I know," Hawkeye answered. "I must have heard Phil tell the story a dozen times while we looked through the album."

"Heck of a way to spend a date," Tony said. It was a feeble snark, a weak attempt to ease the sadness.

Clint responded instantly, using the Cap toy to fling its quarter-sized shield at Tony's face. Tony just got his hand up in time to deflect the missile. It landed in Pepper's lap and she placed it safely on the table.

"Phil was like my big brother, Stark," Clint said severely. "Better than my big brother, actually," Clint added, thinking of Barney who had betrayed him. "Phil found me when I was a punk killer just making a name for myself and helped me make something better of myself. He backed me up when I tried to do the same for Natasha. I didn't share his obsession with Captain America, but I was willing to listen to him talk about it. He was always so calm and collected at work. It was fun to see him get excited about red, white and blue toys. Of course, he had to listen to more discussion of fletching and draw strength and windage than he really cared about."

"And it saved his life, knowing about trajectory and windage," Natasha reminded Clint.

Clint smiled. "Yeah, he said it let him use a handgun to kill a man with a rifle before the rifleman killed him." He shook his head to chase the memories away. "Anyway, Phil went to an estate sale in Brooklyn, because it was in Brooklyn. The man had nine kids who needed the money, so they were selling everything off and splitting the proceeds. Phil bought a suitcase full of stuff that had belonged to the man's mother and this was inside. The guy's name is in here somewhere. Phil was big on provenance."

Clint flipped to the inside back cover. There was a flat pocket there that seemed empty, but Clint slipped a knife blade down it and fished out a folded slip of paper. He opened it.

"David Flanagan, that was the guy's name."

Steve looked like he'd been punched in the gut. No, he looked worse, because he hardly felt a punch to the gut.

"You knew him?" Tony asked.

"He was … Davy Flanagan was seven years old when I went overseas," Steve said weakly. It was the sense of time passing in a blur that hit Steve so hard. The little boy he'd known just three years ago had grown up, died and left nine children. Steve's hand trembled. Natasha took it and wrapped it in both of hers to warm it.

"Take your time. We're here for you," she said.

Steve took a few deep breaths to settle himself, then nodded.

"It's always a shock," he apologized. "Davy adored Bucky, followed him around. He was never impressed by scrawny me, until I came home from Project Rebirth before I left for the war bonds tour."

"Wait, you went home?" Tony asked.

"Sure. Wouldn't be polite to leave without saying goodbye," Steve answered, giving his friend a puzzled look.

"Weren't they surprised by the … change in you?" Natasha asked.

"A little, but they accepted that the Army cured my asthma with a new wonder drug like penicillin."

"But you're … so much bigger," Pepper said.

"Mrs. F — Davy's mother — attributed it to getting three square meals a day in the Army," Steve said with a smile.

The others looked disbelieving, but Bruce nodded. "It's not unheard of for a young man to go through a late growth spurt," he pointed out. "And because Steve was small, they probably tended to forget he was in his 20s and not his teens."

"Captain America was a symbol, but it wasn't a secret that he was played by Steve Rogers," Steve pointed out. "Anyway, Davy was disappointed with me that I was going to perform on stage instead of going to fight the Nazis like Bucky did. But his mother scolded him and pointed out that when you're in the Army, you do what you're told, whether it's peeling potatoes or shooting guns or performing and Davy had to admit it was true. He wished me good luck but said he was sorry I had to go around with a bunch of girls instead of fighting Nazis like a real soldier."

The others laughed. "So, did you leave the album with Davy?" Clint asked, though it didn't seem likely.

"With his mother," Steve answered. "She ran the boarding house where Bucky and I shared a room. She was like a mother to us, treated us the same as she did her own boys. We left all our stuff in storage with her when we went to war."

"And neither of you came home," Pepper said sadly, thinking of Phil.

"Bucky and I made wills leaving what little we had to each other. After he died, I changed mine and left everything to the boys home where we'd grown up. Mrs. Flanagan was an honest woman. She would have taken everything to the church that ran the home, but Father O'Brien knew she loved us like her own kids. He probably gave her the album as a remembrance."

"You didn't leave your stuff to Peggy Carter?" Tony asked.

Steve gave him a look of outrage. "We hadn't even had a date, Stark. If I'd left her — an unmarried woman — all my possessions, it would have given everyone the idea that she was a loose woman."

Tony raised his hands in surrender. "I didn't mean anything by it. Different times."

Steve nodded and dropped his eyes back to the photo album.

"I left her one thing as a remembrance — my compass — because I carried a picture of her in it. But she never got it because I had it with me," Steve said.

Because Clint had turned to the back cover, Steve paged backwards through the book. The last photo was a sad one. Photos of Steve and Bucky in uniform sat on a mantel draped with black ribbons and lit by candles to several saints.

"Someone missed you," Bruce observed. "Someone mourned."

Steve lightly touched the photo that he'd obviously never seen before. "Mrs. F must have added to the album for us."

"And this was her fond farewell," Natasha said, as she regarded the memorial photo.

Steve couldn't find any words, so he flipped another page. The Avengers were surprised to see a formally posed color photo of the Howling Commandos with Sgt. Bucky Barnes and Capt. Steve Rogers in their dress uniforms along with a grumpy Col. Phillips and a smiling Peggy Carter.

Clint wasn't surprised, because he'd seen the photo before. He commented, "I didn't realize they had color photos back then."

"Color film's been around for awhile," Steve said, glad to have a neutral topic to help him get his bearings back. "Think of the 'Wizard of Oz.' That's from the '30s. It was while I was on the war bonds tour that Kodak came out with Kodacolor, one of the first negative films for making color prints. The showgirls were excited. They all planned to get color blowups for their acting portfolios. But you still saw more black and white photos because black and white film was faster and more stable."

"Uh, I don't see my Dad in this picture," Tony ventured.

"That's because he took it, Tony," Steve answered. "He was experimenting with color film for reconnaissance photos. Somehow that involved taking pictures of everyone to try out the film and the camera. After the pictures were printed and Howard had gathered the data, he didn't really need the prints any more, so he gave them away for the men to send to their loved ones. Bucky sent a bunch to Mrs. F."

Steve flipped a page and there was Howard. This color picture was similar to the one they'd seen in Tony's photo album, where Cap in costume had his arm around Howard's shoulders.

"His assistant took this one," Steve said. "He took black and white and color photos for comparison."

"I didn't know there was a color negative," Tony muttered. "I've got to look for that."

"He used a twin lens reflex. The negatives were square, about two and a quarter inches.," Steve advised his friend. "They weren't in strips like some of the film SHIELD showed me when they were reeducating me. The negatives are bigger than — what do you call it? — 35 millimeter?"

"Geez, you skipped straight from box cameras to pixels," Tony said, shaking his head. "I wouldn't even know what a twin lens reflex was if I wasn't interested in the history of technology." Because technology's past can give you insights into its future.

"I think there's a box of big negatives in Malibu. We'll look next time we go back," Pepper said.

"I like the caption," Bruce said, turning attention back to the album.

The label beneath the photo read: "Steve Rogers — the famous Captain America — with the equally famous inventor, Howard Stark."

"That's pure Bucky," Steve said with a smile.

Opposite the Cap-Howard photo was a picture of the camp in the rain, with men huddled under slickers or slogging through ankle deep mud. The label on that one read, "Home sweet home."

Steve started to turn the page, but Clint put out his hand. "You missed a page. Go back."

The photo corners had snagged on each other. Steve carefully slid them apart so he could separate the two pages. He caught his breath in a gasp that was half sob. On the left side was a picture of Bucky and Steve. Bucky was clowning around, one arm around Steve's neck, holding his laughing friend in a chokehold.

"He begged Howard to take our photo and then grabbed me like that in the last second," Steve said. "Jerk," he said fondly, under his breath.

The photo was labeled "Two boys from Brooklyn, together again."

Bad enough to see his dead friend grinning at him, but the other photo was even more painful. It was a candid shot of Steve in his warlike Cap uniform. He looked tired and worn, with dirt streaks on his face and mud stains past his knees. He looked like he hadn't had a shower, a hot meal or a sound sleep in weeks. He slumped on a campstool that looked much too small for his big frame. His helmet sat on the ground beside him along with a plate that showed just a few smears of gravy. Peggy Carter stood beside him, handing him another plate — more of a straight-sided metal cake pan, really. It was heaped with food and Steve was accepting it with a glad smile. Their eyes were on each other and Peggy was smiling, too. The unflinching camera lens testified that their love was mutual.

And the label said, "Steve's girl."

"I never …" Steve's voice caught and he swallowed. "I never saw that picture before. Damn you, Bucky," he whispered.

"What was she saying?" Natasha asked, because spying was her default setting.

"She said, 'Is that smile for me or the food?' And I answered, 'Both.' That's about as smooth as I got." Steve squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying to hold back the tears.

His friends gave him a few moments of respectful silence, then Clint firmly turned the photo album back to the front pages. These were dead people, too, but Steve had had years to come to terms with their loss.

The archer turned the pages while Steve watched passively. The Avengers could see Steve in pictures of his father, a young man smiling in a formal wedding portrait. The same young man, proud in his army uniform and then bedridden, face and arm badly scarred, but smiling Steve's familiar smile. There weren't a lot of photos. The young couple probably couldn't afford many. That changed after the studio portrait of the couple with their baby in the long, lacy christening gown that made Clint snicker.

"Here's Steve in his dress."

Steve gave him a half-hearted nudge with his elbow. "It's a christening gown, you heathen."

The professional portraits became snapshots after that. "My parents bought a Brownie after I was born," Steve explained, baffling half the people in the room.

"I have met brownies," Thor said. "I did not know they could make photographs."

"It was the name of a camera, Thor," Bruce explained. "Simple enough for the average person to use."

"It pretty much looked like a box with a lens on the front. When you used up all the pictures on the roll of film — black and white film," Steve added, nodding at Clint. "You sent the whole camera back to Kodak. They would open it, develop the film, print your pictures and send them back along with the camera loaded with more film."

"Sounds complicated," Natasha said.

"But not difficult," Steve answered.

The pictures of Steve and his father were heartbreaking: the wasted, large-eyed child holding the hand of the too thin, badly scarred man, both of them smiling at the camera, or more likely smiling at the woman behind the camera.

Tony did his part to distract Steve. "You never did tell us about your mother. What happened between the death of your father and meeting Dr. Erskine?"

"My mother worked hard all her life, but still had time to sing while she cooked and to read me stories when I was sick in bed. Taking care of people was what she did best," Steve said. "She was a nurse during World War I, and nursed my father and me when we were sick, which was often. After my father died, she worked at private jobs, nursing people through critical illnesses. She didn't like that, because she had to leave me alone, though Mrs. Barnes — Bucky's mother — was always glad to look after me. She was all alone, too. She was carrying her third child when the Depression started. Mr. Barnes lost his job and, when she was in labor, Mr. Barnes just walked away. We heard he became a hobo, riding the rails and staying on the move. He left his family — Bucky and his little sister — didn't even wait to see whether the baby was a boy or girl. He never knew the baby was stillborn. Bucky never saw him again, never knew if he was alive or dead and didn't much care."

"That is a heinous crime," Thor said, clenching his fist in anger.

"Maybe, but a lot of men did it," Steve said. "They couldn't accept that life had changed irrevocably overnight."

"Damn!" Tony exclaimed. The genius had had a revelation. "That's why you haven't gone insane waking up in 2012. You've been through it before."

Steve hadn't really considered it that way, but he nodded. "Twice, no, three times before, if you look at it that way. The stock market crash, Pearl Harbor and Project Rebirth." A tiny smile twitched the corner of his mouth. "It's as if God was preparing me to be an Avenger."

Thor politely did not debate the lack of a plural on "god."

"Anyway," Steve said. "Mother was happy when she got a job at a TB sanitarium. It was steady work and regular hours. But it was hard work. She got worn down and she either caught the disease or one of the infections that ran rampant through hospitals in those days before penicillin. They quarantined her and wouldn't let her come home. They wouldn't let me come to see her, because of my weak lungs. Father O'Brien took me to say goodbye. We stood in the snow outside the window and they pushed her bed up close so we could put our palms together on opposite sides of the glass. I told her I loved her. She couldn't hear me but she knew what I said and smiled at me. Two weeks later they told me she'd died.

"I was in the children's home by then. Mrs. Barnes would have taken me in, but she knew she was dying, too. A tumor in the bosom. Bucky's younger sister had died of the croup two years before. There was just her and Bucky, no other family to take him in. She brought Bucky to join me in the home, so at least we would be together. She told us to take care of each other. She was hit by a streetcar on the way home."

Pepper caught her breath.

"They say suicide is a sin," Steve continued, looking out the window across the roofs of New York. "And they say breast cancer is an excruciating way to die. Father O'Brien said if she walked in front of the streetcar, it was because she was blinded by her pain. He said God could judge, but he wouldn't and he buried her in sacred ground near my parents, neighbors in life and death."

No one said a word to derail Steve's reminiscences.

"1930 was a hard year for us, but Bucky and I were together. The children's home was not like the one you were in, Clint. It was in my neighborhood, run by my church. Several of the other children had been our playmates before and after they were orphaned. We fit in. The couple who ran the home were nice enough — and fair. They made sure we got our schooling and punished us if we got into trouble, but no worse than my mother would have. We children all worked, of course, but that's the way things were then. You worked and were glad to. Bringing home money or a dozen eggs or a basket of vegetables was a matter of pride. It made us feel grownup and, with that many mouths to feed, it was necessary.

"I wasn't strong enough for farm or factory work, but I had kept house for mother after father died. I could sew and cook and do a little typewriting to help the Masons with their paperwork. My father had taught me office skills. And all of us ran errands. When the people in the neighborhood needed errands run, they came to the home. It was a good deed to give the orphans a chance to earn money."

"I don't suppose you ran many errands. You couldn't run," Clint said.

"No, but some people preferred a messenger who was slow and careful. When Mrs. Manischewitz loaned her sister Mrs. Goldberg a dozen teacups for her daughter's wedding, she trusted me and only me with the errand," Steve said with remembered pride.

"So it went. When we were 18, Bucky and I 'graduated' from the home. The Masons had set aside a portion of everything we had earned in our time there and we had inherited a little from our mothers, which the priest had kept safe for us. So we had a nest egg to start with. We moved in with Mrs. F. Only four doors down from the home. I hoped to become an illustrator and took small commissions for invitations and such while I worked as an office boy. Bucky wanted to be a fireman and took laborer jobs to build up his strength until jobs opened up again. And then came Pearl Harbor and life went sideways again. We decided to join the Army and I think you know the rest."

"It's such a sad story," Pepper said quietly. She felt for the two mothers dying alone and leaving their sons to fend for themselves.

Steve smiled at her.

"All stories sound sad when you recount the death toll," Steve said. "I was a happy child. My father read stories doing different voices for the different characters. My mother sang while she made chicken soup and we sang along. She rewarded me with kisses for every handful of weeds I pulled out of our small vegetable garden. I loved the reward so much, when I cleaned out our patch, I pulled the neighbor's weeds, too. She jokingly complained to mother that I'd 'stolen' her weeds. And that got me two kisses for being kind to the old lady. Mother knitted and father repaired household items while we listened to programs on the radio. Mother's favorite was the drama 'Pretty Kitty Kelly' but father loved the comedies, particularly 'Fibber McGee and Molly.' He always laughed out loud at Fibber McGee's closet."

"What's that?" Natasha asked.

"Allow me, Captain Rogers," Jarvis said. The AI played a portion of the radio show where the family opened the closet and everything came crashing out with bizarre sound effects.

After the Avengers finished laughing (and, boy, did they need the laugh), Steve continued, "Even after my parents died Bucky and I had good times, taking the trolley to Ebbets Field, going to movie matinees, seeing live vaudeville shows for 10 cents admission. When it was hot, we'd follow the ice man's cart around. We'd hold his mule while he took the blocks inside and he'd chip bits of ice for us to suck. We laughed a lot, Bucky and I."

Tony's plan had worked. Talking about the good times had dried Steve's tears.

The captain carefully closed the photo album. "Thanks for reminding me there was more good than bad," he told his friends. "But I am glad to have this back."

"I should have given it back sooner," said a voice from behind them.

They turned in shock to see Phil Coulson leaning heavily on a walker, his face was pale with weariness and his jaw was clenched with pain, but his eyes were clear and alive. Alive!

Concentrating on Steve's story, no one had heard the elevator arrive and Phil could still override Jarvis' security protocols and prevent the AI from warning the Avengers.

"I told Fury it was going too far, giving away my keepsakes," Phil said, stumping forward slowly. "I won't stand for it."

"I thought you were dead," Clint said in a daze.

"I was. Frequently and repeatedly, but not permanently," Phil answered. Leaning on the walker, Phil pointed at his agents, "I want my collectibles back, Barton. And my books, Romanoff. And my Taser, Stark."

Coulson was grinning now and slowly the Avengers began to grin, too.

"I think Nicky's got some 'splaining to do," Tony said in what he fondly considered a Cuban accent.

Steve didn't get the reference, but he fully agreed with the sentiment.

* * *

_A/N: Welcome to Level Seven. I had this in the works before I saw the trailer about Agents of SHIELD, then I knew how to end it after it got so sad and sentimental._


	33. In the Cards

_A/N: This begins immediately after the previous chapter. You should really read it first if you haven't. Warnings for swearing._

**In the Cards**

Nick Fury appeared in the Assembly Room of Avenger's Tower. A knife speared through his body and buried itself in the far wall. The hologram flickered. Fury's image looked down where he would have been punctured if he'd really been in the tower and not on the helicarrier.

"Romanoff!" Tony protested. "You knew he wasn't really there."

"That was just an expression of my displeasure," Natasha answered, sending a glare Fury's way.

"That's why I decided to do this long distance," Fury said wryly. He scratched his jaw. His hand bore a white bandage that contrasted with his usual dark attire.

"Who did that, boss?" Coulson asked, leaning heavily against his walker, still only feet from the elevator door.

"Hill. When I told her."

"Good for her," Tony said. "We are not happy with you Nicky."

"And this should worry me, why?" Fury sighed. "Look, Stark. I don't regret using every trick at my disposal to unite the Avengers. We needed you. Anyway it was Coulson's idea that you needed someone to avenge."

"I deny responsibility for anything I said in the middle of dying," Coulson answered.

"And you were dead. Director Fury didn't lie about that. The medics called it. I called it. And I know dead people. I saw enough of them that day." A bony man with bushy brown hair moved next to Fury and into the holographic image.

"Who are you?" Tony demanded.

"Dr. Henry Marchand," Natasha said. "He was the physician in charge when the helicarrier was attacked."

Clint raised his eyebrows. "He's been on 'leave' since then, because of trauma from losing so many patients, people said."

"He's been sequestered with me," Phil said. "Along with the other medical staff who knew I was alive."

"You were dead. D-E-A-D dead," Marchand emphasized. "We put Coulson's body in our makeshift morgue and went on to save the ones still savable. After you two saved all our lives by keeping the helicarrier from crashing," he pointed at Tony and Steve. "And, if no one thanked you for that — because of what came after — I thank you now. Anyway, after things calmed down, we started to transfer bodies to the real morgue. They were cold and stiff by then, but when Anders picked Phil up, he was still warm and …" The doctor hesitated over technical jargon.

"Bendy?" Tony offered.

Marchand looked down his nose at the sarcastic engineer, but accepted the term.

"He still wasn't breathing and we couldn't find any heartbeat, but since there was magic involved, we operated and repaired the damage to his heart and lungs, then we put him in a bed and kept an eye on him. Two days later all the alarms went off. Phil sat up, said 'Damn that hurts!' and collapsed back in a normal state of unconsciousness."

"We figured out, that was the exact moment that the Tesseract was taken away to Asgard," Fury contributed.

"Somehow, it had kept Agent Coulson in suspended animation," Marchand said.

Tony gave Steve a significant look. He thought lingering Tesseract energy had played a part in Cap's 70-year suspended animation.

"After I woke up, I died again," Coulson said.

"He coded," Marchand agreed. "We brought him back. He had seizures and we brought him back from those. Then he went into a coma."

"We didn't know if he would survive," Fury said heavily. "We didn't know if he would have brain damage after going so long without breathing. We didn't know … anything."

"You could have told us!" Clint yelled.

"I didn't want to raise your hopes, only to have him die again," Fury said.

"But Phil is stubborn," Marchand said. "He refused to die."

"I hadn't gotten my trading cards signed yet," Phil joked, then thought it must be too soon to joke, because everyone flinched instead of laughing.

"His body healed during the coma, but he's only been properly awake for a month," Marchand said.

"A month," Natasha said dangerously.

Fury ignored her and addressed Coulson, who was leaning heavily against his walker, "You need to come back to medical, agent," the director said sternly.

"No, he doesn't," the doctor argued.

"Excuse me, who let his patient escape?" Fury demanded.

"Excuse me, I'm a doctor not a jailer," Marchand said frostily. "And Phil is a patient not a prisoner. Anyway, wounded warrior or not, he's still Phil Coulson. Maybe you could stop him, but no one on my staff could. Or wanted to. We'd like to go home now, too."

"I told you, I wouldn't stand for this, boss," Coulson told Fury. "Enough is enough."

"I'm sending someone to bring you back."

An argument erupted immediately. Coulson objected that he was a grown adult and could make his own decisions, but his protests were drowned by the angry Avengers. Thor bellowed about Fury's treachery. Clint and Natasha said they would resign if Fury interfered. Tony swore SHIELD would never have access to the tower again. Fury argued that Coulson was still unfit and needed to be in bed.

"Enough!" the bark of command made the spine of former Army man Barton stiffen. Natasha froze, Pepper squeaked and Tony's mouth snapped shut. Fury fought to keep from snapping to attention and Coulson would have saluted if he hadn't needed both hands to hold onto the walker. Bruce rubbed his mouth to hide a smile while everyone looked at Captain America. Steve was wearing gray sweatpants and a "Property of the U.S. Army" T-shirt, but his authority was undeniable.

"Damn! How many superpowers do you have?" asked Tony, who could never be silenced for long.

"Enough," Steve answered in a totally different tone of voice. "Agent Coulson…"

Phil straightened as best as he could.

"… do you need to be in medical?"

Coulson could not lie to his childhood hero, not like this. "No, captain. But a bed would be nice," he admitted.

"There are plenty of beds in the tower," Steve told Fury.

"Thirty-seven unclaimed beds on the Avengers' floors," Jarvis said helpfully. "The closest is across the hall from your suite, sir."

"Thank you, Jarvis," Steve said.

"Close sounds good," Coulson said breathlessly. "I'm not sure I can walk even that far. I think I overdid."

"If you call overawing SHIELD medical into letting you leave and intimidating a pilot into taking you to New York and then commandeering a cab — all while leaning on a walker like an old man, then, yes, I'd say you overdid," Fury said.

"There is a wheelchair in the utility closet in the room two doors past the kitchen," Jarvis offered.

Pepper gasped. "I'll get it," she started, but Clint was closer and had already trotted out of the room.

Natasha noticed Pepper's neck turn pink, but the CEO was made of stern stuff and composed herself by the time Barton returned. Clint gave Tony a very odd look when he returned pushing the chair. Tony stuck out his chest and preened.

Natasha decided to find out from Clint later. Thor missed the byplay, Coulson, Steve and Bruce unanimously decided they didn't want to know. They could picture Tony doing just about anything, but they didn't want to know why Pepper blushed.

"Why don't you get him settled?" Clint told Steve, as he helped Coulson into the wheelchair.

Cap could take a hint. He began pushing the chair.

"I'll show you the way," Pepper said brightly, desperate to be out of the room.

Bruce went with them to offer what little medical expertise he owned. Thor collected the walker and followed, leaving Clint and Natasha looking at Tony.

He smiled at them, but had business to finish first. "So, Nick, did you tell Phil what you did to his cards?"

Clint was glad Phil was out of earshot, but Tony had waited deliberately. Coulson looked like he'd been through enough for one night.

Which is pretty much what Fury said when he answered, "No."

"I didn't think so. Bet you'd have more than a scratch on your hand if you had. Nighty-night, Nicky," Tony said. He made a throat cutting gesture and Jarvis cut the feed from SHIELD.

"Let's see how our patient is," Tony suggested, but Clint didn't budge.

Smiling, he said, "A wheelchair and a sexy nurse outfit, Tony, really?"

You just couldn't embarrass Stark. "It helped me, you know, get over my fear of doctors after …" He tapped the arc reactor in his chest. Natasha rolled her eyes, but a smile flirted with her lips. Clint just shook his head.

As they walked toward the new guest room, Tony added without meeting anyone's eyes, "But, um, we had to return the sexy policewoman outfit. Couldn't stand the handcuffs, even when they were blue and fuzzy."

That was about as vulnerable as Tony would permit himself to get. The spies understood; they had issues, too.

"Next lesson, lock picking," Clint offered.

Natasha shook her head. "First, we need to tell Phil about the blood on his trading cards. Because he'll ask, you know he will."

Clint groaned. "Let's get Steve to do it," he suggested cravenly. "He's the captain. Phil won't mind as much if Captain America tells him."

"Keep telling yourself that, Barton," Natasha said grimly.

* * *

Clint brought the box of Captain America collectibles, hoping it would distract Phil. The agent sat on the bed, propped up by pillows. Pepper had taken his shoes off for him — God knows what it had taken for him to bend over to put the loafers on in the first place.

Seeing the box, Phil held out his arms to gather his babies.

"Indian giver," Clint muttered with a smile, as he turned over his legacy.

Coulson noticed Clint still clutched the Cap toy with shield slinging action.

"All right," the collector said grudgingly. He gave Clint three more toys that were out of their packages. "So you have something to play with." But as he rummaged, he noticed something missing.

"Where are my cards?" he asked.

Clint cursed silently as his attempt to distract Phil backfired.

The agent saw the Avengers' expressions change. "What?" he demanded sharply.

"It can wait until the morning, when you're stronger," Steve tried to soothe, but that just made the injured man more agitated.

"OK, I'll get them. Calm down," Steve said. He went to his room just across the hall to collect the set.

"Fury told us you had them on you," Tony said, as Cap came back and wordlessly spread out the bloodstained cards. "Maybe he wasn't lying about you being dead, but he sure lied about these. Clint told us you always kept them in your locker."

The injured agent looked dumbstruck and even paler than before, lying on top of the bedcovers, thumbing through the damaged cards. "Fury did this?"

"He told Tony and me that they had been in your pocket when Loki killed you," Steve said.

"He told Steve, 'I guess you never had a chance to sign them,'" Tony added. He could understand Fury wanting to goad him into action, but the signing comment seemed an unnecessary dig at Cap who had followed all Fury's orders.

"So I did sign them," Steve said. "Even though they were ruined."

"Don't look so down, agent," Tony said lightly, though he was desperate to ease the sense of loss that Coulson must be feeling. "Bruce and I will look for a solvent that will remove blood from cardboard without damaging the card or causing the ink to fade. Tricky, but, hey, we're geniuses," he finished with a shrug.

"Don't bother." Phil finally found his voice. "The history behind the stains, the actions they inspired, makes the cards all the more precious to me, even if it spoils their collector's value. I could never sell them, anyway." He smiled a genuine smile at Steve. "And the signatures — thank you for that, captain."

"Steve."

Coulson's eyes flashed with the joy of a child opening a Christmas present that was just what he wanted. "Phil."

He held out his hand and Steve shook it solemnly. "I'm pleased to see you again," Steve said. "You don't know how pleased."

Bruce returned with pajamas he thought would fit the agent. He'd missed the heavy emotional scene, which was probably just as well. The others left Phil to change for bed. Clint, his oldest friend in the group, stayed to help him.

"I can do this myself, Barton," Coulson grumbled. But he was worn out by anger and the trek across town. His hands trembled.

"Injured agents shouldn't be too proud to accept help," Clint quoted pompously.

Phil chuckled. "Who am I to contradict myself," he said. He allowed Clint to button his pajama top for him. Hawkeye's eye lingered on the still raw scar in the middle of Phil's chest.

"It wasn't your fault," Phil said quietly. "You were a POW used by the enemy."

"I tell myself that every day. Maybe one day I'll believe it," Clint said. "It helps to have you back."

"I'm glad we got you back, too," Phil said. He lay back on the bed with a sigh and pulled the covers up. "OK, that's as much emotion as I can fake for one day."

Clint smiled at the old joke. Newbies thought Coulson was emotionless, but Clint, Natasha and a few others knew better.

"You bringing breakfast tomorrow?" Coulson asked hopefully, as he rolled on his side trying to find a comfortable position.

"Naturally," Clint agreed. He, Natasha and Phil always took care of each other when one was hurt. He knew just what Phil craved after a month of hospital food. And then he remembered — shit, shit, shit! — he needed to talk to Natasha!

Glad that Phil wasn't looking at him, Clint started to leave, but as his hand hovered over the light switch, a happier thought occurred. "Your cards — stained with the blood of heroes and signed by Cap — sounds like they're one-of-a-kind items, now."

One-of-a-kind, the holy grail of collectors. "That's a nice thought," Phil admitted, as Clint pressed the switch. Before he closed the door, Phil's voice came out of the darkness. "But that doesn't mean Fury's not going to pay."

* * *

_A/N: What terrible thought just struck Clint? Tune in next week._


	34. Coulson's Comfort Food

_A/N: This chapter takes place the morning after the previous one. What disaster did Clint anticipate?_

**Coulson's Comfort Food**

"Are you sure that's what he wants," Tony Stark said doubtfully. "I can get fresh. It will only take ten minutes, tops."

"No, Stark, this is Coulson's comfort food," Natasha Romanoff answered.

"No, it isn't," Clint Barton said wretchedly. "He'll know." They just found out their handler was alive. Clint couldn't bear to disappoint him very first thing.

Clint and Natasha were delivering breakfast in bed to their resurrected handler the morning after his strenuous escape from SHIELD medical. The Avengers still couldn't believe Phil was alive. It helped to see for themselves that he was pale and weak, but alert — and alive!

"We don't have a choice," Natasha said with a sigh.

Curious as the devil, Tony followed the SHIELD agents into Phil Coulson's room where he was chatting with Steve Rogers and Pepper Potts. Coulson's eyes lit up when he saw the agents.

"Did you bring them?" Phil asked.

Coulson regarded Clint and Natasha expectantly. It wasn't the first time they'd looked after him when he'd been injured and they knew what he craved. The two spies exchanged a glance that would have been a worried glance if they hadn't been, you know, experienced spies. Their eyes said, here goes nothing.

Clint pulled his hand from behind his back and presented a plate with a neat pyramid of miniature, white, powdered sugar doughnuts. Coulson rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "They didn't let me have solid food until two weeks ago and then only unseasoned chicken and sugarless cereal. I've literally been dreaming about these."

He picked up the top one and bit down, eyes closed in pleasure. He chewed. His eyes opened. He chewed some more, his mouth pursed in contemplation.

Clint unobtrusively stepped backwards, putting Natasha between him and Phil. The other Avengers regarded him curiously, then turned their eyes back to Phil. He swallowed.

"Isn't it any good?" Tony asked. Without being asked, Tony took a doughnut from the plate and sampled it. "Dry, powdery, hint of plastic — tastes normal to me."

Steve punched Tony in the shoulder, just hard enough to make the inventor stagger. "Stark, you eat grilled cheese smeared with motor oil. What do you know?"

"That's my point!" Tony protested. "I'm an expert in crappy food!"

"He really is," Pepper sighed. "He'll scrape the mold off week-old take out and eat it when he's busy in the lab, then he'll complain about the garnish and send back his entrée in a nice restaurant."

"If they're charging me $90 for fish, it had better be perfect," Tony argued.

Clint and Natasha ignored Tony and kept their eyes on Phil. The patient slowly finished his doughnut and, wearing a thoughtful expression, licked the powdered sugar off his fingers.

"Something wrong?" Natasha asked. Her bland expression gave nothing away, but the frown line on Clint's forehead did.

"No, it's fine. Much better than plain Cream of Wheat. But it's not a Hostess Donette." He sounded mildly disappointed. Clint hung his head, because he knew that meant Coulson was really, severely distressed.

Stark's mouth formed a silent "oh!"

"What?" Coulson asked.

Of course it was the woman who manned up. "I'm sorry, Phil," Natasha said. "Hostess went bankrupt in November. This is Sara Lee's version of the mini donut."

"Bankrupt?" Phil said weakly. "But I've only been out of action for six months. How could my favorite doughnuts be gone?"

A warm hand lightly squeezed the invalid's shoulder. "I know just how you feel, Agent Coulson — I mean, Phil," Steve Rogers said with an understanding smile. Awakening after 70 years of suspended animation, Steve had found that many once-familiar things were gone.

Phil couldn't help but smile back at his childhood hero. Suddenly the loss of his iconic mini doughnuts seemed like a fair trade a shared experience with this American icon.

"Thank you for the gift," Phil graciously told his agents. "I appreciate the thought. It wasn't what I expected, but these are my new favorites."

Clint relaxed visibly. Natasha relaxed invisibly. Phil offered a mini doughnut to Steve, who accepted it graciously.

"It's not bad," Steve said.

"Have another," Phil said, and bit into one himself.

"It's official. Nobody doesn't like Sara Lee," Tony joked.

* * *

_If you've read Chapter 22 Last Straw and Chapter 24 Steve "Buck" Rogers, you've realized that my mind makes strange correlations between seemingly unrelated topics. And if you've seen "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Thor's Hammer," one of the extras on the Captain America Blu-Ray, you'll know that Phil Coulson likes those mini doughnuts. So during all the Hostess fuss about the last Twinkies, I was thinking about Phil and the disappearance of his donettes._


	35. A Chicken in Every Pot

**A Chicken in Every Pot**

Two whole chickens had been reduced the bones in a catered midday feast celebrating Phil Coulson's resurrection. The heaping pile of mashed potatoes was a mere smear in the bowl. The flattened skins of two peas were the only scraps left in the bowl of vegetables. Crumbs and streaks of color were all that remained of three different kinds of pie.

One thing you could say about the Avengers, they knew how to eat, Clint Barton thought with satisfaction, as he helped clear the table. He took one platter of chicken bones and upended it above the trashcan.

A hand flashed out to snatch the carcass from midair.

"What are you doing?" Steve demanded in horror. He looked like he might clutch the chicken remains to his chest, if they hadn't been kind of greasy.

"I'm throwing away the bones," Clint answered cautiously.

"But there's still good meat on this," Steve protested.

The others in the kitchen regarded the carcass dangling from Steve's big hand. OK, you could see meat on the bones, but you'd have to scrape it off with your fingernails to get enough to make a sandwich.

All eyes turned to the captain who had that slightly wild-eyed look they had come to recognize as the past colliding with the present like incoming waves smashing into an undertow.

"Steve, it's not 1930 any more," Tony said.

Steve's eyes snapped to the billionaire and the captain's spine stiffened. "No, but there are still soup kitchens, aren't there?" he snapped in a way that made the billionaire flinch.

Steve immediately regretted his words. "I'm sorry, Tony. It just seems like such a waste."

"We've thrown away chicken bones before," Pepper pointed out.

Yes, but these whole carcasses brought the past to life in a way a pile of denuded chicken wings couldn't.

Steve returned the carcass to its platter and gestured at the two birds. "Right, these are mine. Nobody touch them," he ordered. He washed his hands then jogged out of the kitchen. "I'll be back," he called.

The others made wide circles around the off limits birds while they finished cleaning up the kitchen. Phil Coulson sat at the kitchen table, forbidden to help.

"Any idea what that was about?" Bruce asked the Captain America expert.

"A flashback to the Great Depression, like Stark said," Phil offered. "We'll find out soon enough."

Steve came back as Bruce and Natasha were wiping down the counters. Everyone made way for him, then circled back to see what he was doing. Cap set bags of fresh produce on the clean counter. The leafy tops of carrots and celery poked out of the cloth sacks.

Steve turned to face his friends. He looked calmer and definitely shamefaced. "I'm sorry, guys. I was out of line. I just ... I saw that carcass going into the trash and I had a flashback to my childhood, to my mother making chicken soup. These bones would have fed my family for two more meals at least. I couldn't stand to see them wasted, but I had no business snapping at you, especially you, Tony. After all you do for people. After all you've done for me — I'm sorry."

Tony waved away the apology. "Not a problem. If you can't yell at your friends, who can you yell at?"

"So, you're going to make soup?" Bruce asked. "Do we even have a soup pot?"

"I'm pretty sure I saw one in the back," Steve said. While Cap ducked down and crawled half into the lower cupboard, Tony scowled at Bruce. "This is a Stark kitchen," the engineer pointed out. "If a kitchen is supposed to have a soup pot, then this one has a soup pot!"

"Not that you'd know a soup pot if you saw one," Pepper finished.

"No, I hire professionals for that sort of thing."

Steve emerged with a metallic clatter and a loud bang, dragging out the biggest darn pot in the kitchen.

"There, soup pot!" Tony told Pepper in triumph, as if he'd known it all along. She just rolled her eyes.

"I didn't know you cooked, capt ... Steve," Coulson said. He still wasn't used to calling his childhood hero by his first name.

"We did," Natasha said. "Those of us who paid attention when Steve talked about his mother," she amended, when a couple of the others looked at her blankly. "He said he kept house and cooked when his mother went back to work after the death of his father."

"Right," Clint agreed. He was a spy. He'd paid attention.

Coulson looked regretful that he'd missed the occasion.

"Jarvis recorded it. Just ask the next time you run out of Supernanny reruns," Tony said.

"Thank you."

"No one else cooks?" Steve asked, as he put the carcasses into the pot. "I can understand the prince and the billionaire had people to cook for them, but everyone else?"

"I can roast an elk or fry bear steaks over an open fire," Thor said, "But this kitchen of wizardry is beyond me."

"Tony can bake," Pepper offered.

"Really?" Bruce asked.

"It's just applied chemistry," Tony said dismissively. "Fermentation. Maillard reactions. It's easy, and it was a good way to make friends when I was the youngest kid in school," he said honestly. "I learned from Jarvis. He used to let me help make cookies," Tony said nostalgically. When everyone looked in confusion at the speaker in the wall, Tony said, "No, I mean, the family butler."

"My namesake," Jarvis the AI explained, while everyone nodded their understanding.

While he collected pitchers of water to fill the pot, Steve's questioning eyes fell on Pepper and Bruce.

"All I make is reservations," Pepper said.

"Coffee. You used to make great coffee," Tony reminded her.

"A legacy of my secretarial days," she agreed. "Otherwise, the microwave was my best friend until I started living in Stark luxury."

"When I was in college, I did a mean stir fry," Bruce said, "but it's been so long ... I've been living in the opposite of luxury for so long, I've forgotten my cooking skills and they were never much to begin with. Most of the places I've been hiding out, I was lucky to have a hot plate let alone a stove. But most of those places also have a myriad of street vendors."

The widely traveled spies nodded agreement, remembering street vendors they had known.

"Cooking was not one of the skills that the Red Room considered essential," Natasha said. "But Clint was undercover as a chef for five months," she added mischievously.

He rolled his eyes. "A chef? I was a short order cook. I flipped pancakes and scrambled eggs for breakfast and made burgers and fries for lunch — no dinner service at our diner. I can tell a rare burger from one that's well done just by looking at it and I know a great recipe for making pancakes from scratch. That's about it."

Steve noticed that Natasha hadn't answered the question, but it was Clint who called her on it. "Natasha is a saucier."

"I'll bet she's saucy," Tony said roguishly.

Natasha flipped a knife to land a scant half-inch from the engineer's hand. He yelped and drew back, hiding behind Pepper.

"Stark!" Steve warned.

Clint just shook his head, because Natasha could take care of herself. "I mean, she can make sauces, Tony," he explained as if to a child. "A simple hamburger or a plain chicken breast, add a mushroom sauce or a shallot butter sauce and you'd think it came out of a pro kitchen."

Natasha shook her head. "It isn't hard. It's just a matter of patience and stirring, lots of stirring."

"So what you're saying is everyone cooks a little," Phil said in amusement. "I've been eating out of the SHIELD commissary for a long time, but I used to be able to follow a simple recipe."

"Cap still wins first prize," Tony said. "He's cooking from scratch."

"I'm not really that far advanced," Steve said. "I can make soups and stews, anything that simmers in a pot of water on the back of the stove. Throw in whatever meat is available and fill it out with vegetables from the garden. That was how my mother did it. And dumplings, if there's enough flour."

The others regarded him with awe. "You can make dumplings?" Clint asked, as if it was the most difficult skill conceived (though maybe he and Steve were thinking of different types of dumplings).

While everyone talked, Steve had been adding things to the pot: two big carrots snapped in half, two white things that looked a lot like carrots (aka parsnips) also snapped in half, three stalks of celery similarly snapped, a head of garlic cut in half and two onions cut in quarters (with their papery skins and all), a palmful of salt and a batch of whole peppercorns, then he tied up a bundle of herbs — parsley and other greenery the Avengers didn't recognize — and tossed it in the pot.

When he turned away satisfied, he found all his friends regarding him expectantly.

"What?" he asked.

"Can we help?" Clint asked.

"Not right now, this is just the stock — the base," Steve said. "After we get all the flavor out of the carcasses, then we'll add more vegetables." He grinned. "Then I'll need someone who's good with knives to help me chop the vegetables. Do you know anyone who's good with knives?" he asked the SHIELD agents.

The agents instantly produced their own blades. Clint pulled a wicked looking hunting knife out of his boot. Natasha slid a stiletto out of her sleeve. Even Phil the invalid produced a knife from the back of his collar.

Cap paced in front of them as if reviewing his troops. He nodded seriously. "You'll do," he said, though really only the hunting knife was useful as a kitchen knife.

Tony gave a mocking salute. "What about us, captain?" he said, including Pepper, Bruce and Thor with a nod.

"Hmm," Steve mused, while he frantically racked his brain to come up with jobs for more people. It was just one pot of soup!

He was saved by the bell — literally. His cellphone began to ring like a fire bell and the other Avengers' phones chimed in, each with the ring tone that meant Assemble!

They shot out the door, leaving Phil sitting at the kitchen table eying the simmering pot warily. "Now what do we do?" he asked Pepper, forgetting that there was someone else to answer.

"Shall I look up a recipe for chicken stock, Agent Coulson?" Jarvis asked.

"Good idea, Jarvis. How hard can it be?"

As it turned out, not very. Just simmer uncovered for four hours. The recipe didn't say anything about stirring, but Phil used a long spoon occasionally to move stuff around on the bottom of the pot, just so nothing would burn.

* * *

When the Avengers returned from what Nick Fury called a drill, Bruce called a false alarm, Clint called punishment for arguing with Fury and Tony called a freaking waste of time, they were greeted by the smell of simmering chicken and vegetables.

"My soup!" Steve exclaimed, aghast that he'd forgotten. Captain America in full regalia ran for the kitchen.

Shirtsleeves rolled up, Phil sat at the kitchen table, reading a book and standing guard over the stockpot. Pepper sat across from him, working on her Starkpad.

"I hope it's all right," he told Steve. "I turned off the burner about half an hour ago and covered the pot."

Captain America looked into the pot. He sighed with relief. After the fuss he'd made about wasting food, he'd really have been embarrassed if he'd ruined the soup, because of a freaking drill!

"It looks great, Phil, thanks."

"Thank Jarvis. He found the recipe so we knew how long to let it cook."

"Thank you, Jarvis," Steve said gratefully.

"Always glad to help, Captain Rogers."

"We, uh, also cooked the chicken you brought from the market," Phil said uncertainly. "I hope that was right."

"More chicken?" Clint asked. "Weren't the carcasses enough?"

"They've given up all their flavor to the stock," Phil said. Research was part of his job description and he'd been researching chicken soup all the time the Avengers were gone.

"So we add more chicken for more flavor," Pepper affirmed. "She'd become a vicarious expert by helping Phil."

"So, is it knife time?" Clint asked, twirling the hunting knife from his boot.

"Do we want the soup for dinner?" Steve asked.

"Yes!" his friends chorused.

"Then yes, it's time to chop," Steve said. "But first …" He tugged off his gauntlets and regarded his dirty, sweaty friends. "Everybody needs to wash up."

The Avengers scattered to quick showers and vigorous hand washing, before assembling in the kitchen again. Phil and Pepper had gotten out cutting boards and proper kitchen knives.

Steve passed out vegetables to Natasha and Clint, asking for half-inch cubes. Or something similar when Clint protested you couldn't cut curvy celery into cubes.

Steve strained the stock, removing the carcasses and all the tired vegetables, then he returned the liquid to the pot. That gave him time to plan tasks for his other impatient helpers. (Phil and Pepper were patient. They'd done their part.)

He gave the cooked and cooled chicken to Tony to shred, no knives required, and handed Thor a head of garlic to smash and pick out the papery part.

"Smashing. Is that not a job for the Hulk?" Thor joked, as he pressed the garlic flat with the palm of his hand.

"I'm sure he'd do a very good job of it," Bruce said, "but he'd probably smash the table, too."

"Can't have that," Tony commented. "We'd have to eat off the floor."

Clint and Natasha had finished chopping the onions and celery and carrots. Steve put the vegetables in a pan to sauté and set Bruce to stir it so nothing burned. "It is just like chemistry," the scientist said, pleased.

"With fewer explosions," Tony said.

"Unless you let Cap work the microwave," Clint said.

Steve looked up from where he was prepping the proper proportion of herbs and protested, "That was once!"

They laughed and worked as a team, getting all the ingredients ready in record time. When the vegetables had softened and the chicken was shredded, Steve put it all in the pot and stirred. It smelled like his mother's kitchen, he thought with a smile. It smelled like home.

"Just a half an hour to let the flavors blend," he said.

Steve covered the pot again and turned to find all the Avengers staring at him — again.

"Now what?" he asked nervously.

"You were singing," Natasha answered.

Steve blushed a darker brick red than he had when Tony took him to the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. (Bad enough to see girls in bathing suits and workout gear that looked like underwear, but to see them literally parading around in bras and panties!)

"I'm sorry," Steve said in a much too small voice for a great big super soldier. "I won't do it again."

He'd been all happy, now he looked crushed. These mood swings had to stop, Tony thought.

"When did you get so bipolar?" Tony said crossly. "We don't care if you sing."

Steve met their eyes and saw agreement among the other Avengers.

"I didn't realize I was singing out loud," Steve said. "I was thinking about my mother."

"You said she sang when she cooked," Pepper remembered.

"Then my father and I would sing along and it was fun, even if we did sound like donkeys braying," Steve chuckled at the memory. At his friends' questioning looks, he added, "Bad lungs, remember. I could never hold a note for long and I'd start wheezing if I tried too long."

"Steve, you do remember you don't have those weak lungs anymore, right?" Natasha said dryly.

Steve's jaw dropped. Of course he knew that, but he'd never considered it in the context of singing.

Coulson defended his young hero. "You have to remember that Steve has only been Cap for three years going on four. He was weak and wheezing for 20. It's a lot to get used to."

"You mean you've never sung since the serum?" Clint asked in amusement. "Not in church or on the march?"

"I always sing under my breath in church, so I don't disturb anyone else. That's habit," Steve said. "And Bucky begged the Commandos not to let me sing. He literally bribed Dum-Dum to leave me alone. We sang in the taverns sometimes, but they were so noisy, you could hardly hear yourself think, let alone sing. You mean it wasn't bad?"

"No, it wasn't bad at all," Pepper said. "But even if it was, we wouldn't laugh at you."

"Yeah, uh, no," Tony said. "For the record, I reserve the right to make fun of you at any time for any reason."

"Noted," Steve said gravely.

"But, also for the record, your singing was not hard on the ears."

"It fell within the range of harmonics generally considered pleasant, captain," Jarvis offered helpfully. "The sound of a donkey braying is substantially different."

"Um, thank you, I think."

Steve saw the others were STILL looking at him.

"So, give us a song," Tony demanded.

"No, give us soup," Clint countered.

"Give us both," Thor said practically.

In the Catholic Church of his childhood, the congregation didn't sing hymns, but Steve's mother had frequented camp meetings. They were cheap entertainment and people would pray for her sick son to be healed. Everyone sang there, and the hymns had stuck in Steve's mind.

His head full of memories of his mother singing to God, Steve remembered a hymn that seemed to fit his bizarre life. So as he served up chicken soup, he sang, first quietly and then with more confidence: "Amazing grace how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found…" Tony snorted and the others chuckled at the aptness of the lyrics. "… was blind but now I see. Through many dangers, toils and snares I have already come. 'Tis grace that that brought me safe thus far and grace will lead me home."

God's grace in the person of the Avengers, Steve thought. Amen.

The Avengers sipped their soup with appreciation, enjoying it all the more because they'd had a hand in its creation.

"This is as good as any soup I've had in a restaurant, Steve," Tony praised. Then an odd look crossed his face.

"Something wrong?" Steve asked anxiously, wondering if Tony had swallowed a bone.

"No, it's great. I just realized. I think this is the first meal I've ever had where the cook wasn't paid to fix it."

"That's why it tastes so good, because it was prepared with love," Pepper said, making Steve blush and the others smile.

Tony cleared his throat. "So, who cooks tomorrow?" he asked brightly, deflecting attention and fooling no one.

Clint and Natasha exchanged speaking glances. She nodded once. "Burgers with wild mushroom sauce and mashed potatoes," Clint offered. "If you bake dessert."

"Deal."

* * *

_A/N: I suppose you can tell I watch a lot of Food Network. So, cooking isn't difficult as long as you can follow directions. Telling when meat is perfectly done is my downfall and getting everything ready at the same time. In my mind, all the Avengers can throw together a simple meal, but with their busy lives, they haven't had the time or facilities (or motivation) to practice. Until now. Stock recipe is loosely based on Ina Garten's from foodnetwork dot com._


	36. Revenge is Sweet

**Revenge is Sweet**

SHIELD Director Nick Fury lowered his weapon with satisfaction. The man-shaped target showed a tight grouping of holes in the kill zone.

"Good shooting, boss. You win," said Phil Coulson, as he used a scope to study the target downrange.

"As usual," Maria Hill added without heat. She cleared her weapon, checked the chamber, reloaded and put it back in the holster at her hip.

She and Coulson had been just as accurate as Fury, but a hair slower in emptying their magazines. At least Coulson had an excuse, Hill thought with self-disgust. He still walked with a cane, following his near death at Loki's hands and the long recuperation after. He still tired easily. At the moment he was leaning heavily on his cane as he moved to a seat at the side.

The SHIELD director and his two top assistants had the firing range to themselves, a ritual among the three. This was the first time they had gotten together since Coulson's resurrection.

It was very satisfying, Hill thought with a genuine, though brief, smile.

Coulson sat down with care. Taking his custom-made Stark-cane in both hands, he twisted the gold ring around the neck. Off to the side, unnoticed, a fat beverage cooler began to rise on whisper quiet jets — stealth repulsors, Tony Stark called them proudly.

The targeting system was preset. Coulson didn't have to do anything more as the cooler swooped toward the broad shoulders of Fury's black trench coat.

Hill's eyes opened wide and Fury started to turn, but even their panther quick reactions were too slow. The flying cooler tilted and upended a flood of ice-cube laden water on Fury's head, shoulders and signature black leather trench coat.

Coulson twisted the ring back. The cooler subsided to the ground. Coulson rested his chin on the cane and regarded his soaking wet boss with just the faintest smirk on his otherwise impassive face.

It was very satisfying, Coulson thought.

Hill took her hand off her weapon. She had been angry to learn that Fury had concealed Coulson's survival. She successfully fought to hide her smile when she realized that Phil was avenging himself.

Fury shook off the chilly water and fished an ice cube out of his collar. After the first shock of cold passed, the director became aware of a certain … odor.

Hill sniffed thoughtfully. With her usual deadpan, she asked, "Is that jasmine or honeysuckle. I can never tell the difference."

"Honeysuckle," Coulson informed her, with his usual deadpan.

"Thank you," she said with a nod, as if ticking off an item on a checklist.

Holding his drenched arms clear of his body, Fury sniffed the sickeningly sweet aroma. "Coulson, do you know how long it will take to get that smell out of leather?" he asked with aggravated calm.

"Less time than it takes to get blood out of vintage trading cards, boss," Coulson suggested.

Fury grimaced, gave a quick nod acknowledging checkmate and walked away dripping.

Hill watched him go, and then turned back to Phil. "Revenge is sweet," she said with a small chuckle.

Coulson dipped his head.

Hill considered. She understood why he'd kept the retaliation private. Public humiliation was not in the best interests of SHIELD, but she was unclear about one point.

"I understand the payback — trench coat for trading cards. I get the perfume, but why the ice?"

The corner of Coulson's mouth curled just a touch and his eyes twinkled in understated amusement. He answered, "Because revenge is a dish best served cold."

* * *

_A/N: Next week, in "A Very Good Team" see a special preview of a multipart story: "Heroics." Same team, but a longer story._


	37. Teamwork

_Hey, FrostFan, this one's for you. I don't generally take requests but occasionally they inspire a story. So it doesn't hurt to ask._

**Teamwork**

Steve Rogers was driving Phil Coulson from a doctor's appointment at SHIELD back to his quarters at Avengers Tower when the "assemble" call went out. Most of the Avengers were out of town and Iron Man and Hulk had responded to the report of an army of androids that had attacked a school carnival full of families with little children. Now a second report came in about civilians trapped by another group of androids.

Leaving the still recovering agent at a safe distance, Captain America went to check out the second report. All he found was a deserted street and empty buildings. He wondered if the androids had chased away the people, or carried them off, then a sniper fired, clipping Cap in the back of his neck. It would have killed anyone else and even Cap dropped like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Paralyzed and unable to call for help, he lay on the deserted street waiting for his enemy to finish him off.

He didn't expect rescue. It would take a while before Tony realized he hadn't reported in and even then, he wouldn't be able to abandon the innocents.

Cap was no egotist, but he wondered if the whole attack was just a diversion to take him down. It was a damn good diversion, if so. The Avengers can't possibly leave the children to be slaughtered and Steve wouldn't want them to.

The only one who even realized Steve was in trouble was a gimpy, half-healed SHIELD agent still on medical leave. Steve prayed he would stay clear.

An ambulance pulled up next to the fallen Avenger, but Cap didn't get his hopes up. His pessimism was proved correct when four big men dressed in camouflage outfits climbed out and clustered around Cap.

The men began to unload heavy chains and manacles that looked strong enough to confine the Hulk. They weren't taking any chances with Cap's quick healing abilities.

"Perfect shot," one of Cap's four attackers gloated, patting his rifle. "Zola was right."

"Zola?" Steve ground out, trying desperately and failing to move anything below his neck.

"That's right. We're taking you to see an old friend," the second henchman said.

"You'll never recognize him," the third laughed.

But Cap had been briefed on the strange history of Arnim Zola.

"I hear he's even uglier now than when I knew him," Cap said dryly.

"Ooh, Captain America made a funny," the fourth laughed. "Always good for a guinea pig to keep up his spirits." He fastened a manacle to Cap's right wrist, but was interrupted before he could wrap the heavy chain around the Avenger.

"Hey, excuse me. You can't take him. He doesn't belong to you." The diffident voice was music to Cap's ears, but a surprise to Zola's henchmen.

They turned to look. A moderate sized man with a bland face limped toward them leaning on a cane. He looked quite harmless.

"He's Captain America," Phil Coulson explained, as he moved closer. "He belongs to the nation, not to you."

"Don't ..." Steve started, frightened for his injured friend.

Phil flicked his fingers at Cap in a SHIELD signal that meant "don't interrupt me while I'm working."

Cap's forefinger finger twitched in acknowledgment.

Inside his head, Captain America's biggest fan did a happy dance. Cap moved his finger! But on the outside, Phil looked just as bland as ever.

"Really, I can't let you take him," he told the four big men apologetically.

"How you gonna stop us, crip?" First jeered.

"I really can't do much," Phil admitted. "See, I got hurt last year in the whole Battle of Manhattan thing. Can't even walk without the cane. But it's a pretty nice cane, handmade by Tony Stark. Yes, THE Tony Stark. He's an acquaintance, uh, associate, uh, frenemy." Phil shrugged. "It seems presumptuous to say 'friend.' I mean, genius, billionaire, philanthropist, right?"

His chatter was mesmerizing, disarming. Somehow Phil had worked his way around until he was between the men and their ambulance.

"But I was talking about the cane," Phil chided himself. "You know what you say when you see a handmade Stark cane?" He took in their blank looks. "No? You say, 'goodbye.'"

He lifted the tip off the ground and a flap dropped open revealing a gun barrel. The airgun fired a nearly silent blast. First Henchman dropped with a hole where the sniper's face used to be.

Coulson sprang forward, keeping his balance on his stronger left leg. He spun the steel cylinder like a bo staff, striking up to Third's face and down to Second's crotch. Strike, strike, slam! He belabored the men until they had both fallen unconscious.

It only took a second, but Fourth had backed out of reach and drawn his gun. This must be one of Cap's superhero friends that he hadn't been briefed on, he thought. See how he handles a bullet in the face.

Phil panted, cursing Loki with what he expected would be his dying breath. Cap's hand closed around the manacle. The heavy chain lashed out like a bullwhip. Fourth's kneecap was crushed with a satisfying crunch. Steve yanked, and Fourth's scream of pain was cut off when his chin impacted the curb, bending his neck in an impossible angle.

"Just like Indiana Jones," Phil said, knowing Steve had seen "Raiders of the Lost Ark."

"I was thinking of Clyde Beatty," the man from the 1940s replied, as he struggled to a sitting position, flexing his feet, which were just beginning to get their feeling back. He rubbed the bloody scab on the back of his aching neck. Thank heavens for accelerated healing.

"Clyde Beatty?" Phil asked.

"Famous lion tamer," Steve answered. "Used a whip and a chair."

Phil regarded the two unconscious men and the two dead men. "I think we tamed them," he agreed and then sighed as his weary legs began to tremble. "And I could use a chair."

* * *

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_A/N: And now for a preview of a multipart story that I started posting this very day. "A Very Good Team" will be on hiatus while the new one runs, but this collection of short fics will return. The new story "Heroics" features this same team and everyone will be in it. Well, no Hulk but some Bruce. So now go look for:_

_**Heroics**_

_Pepper Potts left Stark Industries offices in Avengers Tower for a lunch meeting at her favorite bistro just around the corner._

_Half a block from the main exit, she was swarmed by a mass of reporters shouting questions about Tony Stark's latest escapade. They were yelling, shoving, jostling. Pepper was used to the media, but this was frighteningly aggressive behavior. And then Pepper realized she didn't know any of the pushy reporters surrounding her. Not one … single … person. Furthermore, none of them held a notebook or microphone and only one had a camera._

_Now Pepper was really frightened. "Leave me alone. Help! Help!" she shouted._

_Passersby were uncertain. Most dodged away from the bellicose mob. A few pulled out cellphones to report the trouble. One businessman protested the unseemly behavior and was knocked to the ground and kicked for his efforts._

_Then a blond juggernaut plowed into the crowd._

_**Continued in "Heroics"**_


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